


For Every Action

by Churbooseanon



Series: For Every Action, A Reaction [9]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-01-26 23:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 84,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1705754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Churbooseanon/pseuds/Churbooseanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All it takes is one little change to send everything spiraling out of control. A little push to start the cascade of events in a new direction. A matter of timing being off, of a moment of fear instead of reason, or the less likely of two choices being selected. One initial change and suddenly it’s all different.</p><p>And maybe this time, they can do it better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first deliberate undertaking of a longer story in the RvB fandom. I will admit that this is by no means solely my fault. Credit for the concept, outline, and initial draft of the first several chapters of this story all belong to synnesai of tumblr and deviantart. I don’t think I can say that enough. Without Synne this would not be possible, and without her initial draft I’d be fumbling around aimlessly trying to figure out just how to make this work. So ABSOLUTELY consider this a cooperative piece. 65% her for the tough concept work and 35% me for the final execution. If you don’t follow Synne (which I highly doubt), go check her out, especially her RvB fanart.

For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. For every push, a pull. For every word, a silence. For every pain, a pleasure. For every lie, a truth.

For every action, a reaction.

Sometimes, though, the reaction takes time to be seen.

* * * * * *

_“What was that he said about 'goodbyes'? Director?”_

* * * * * *

York's world didn't start falling apart in a hail of gunfire. It wasn't in an explosion or a blade or because he messed up one time too many with a hololock. Nor was it in a Warthog crash, or with a Pelican being shout out of the sky, or a rocket launcher, or a bolt of lightning, or any of the other myriad ways he had imagined since joining Project Freelancer and giving up his name in favor of sweet ass armor and a little voice in his head that didn't like being referred to as a little voice in his head. 

No, the world falling apart was a more personal thing. A more desperate situation because there was nothing he could do to stop it, to fix it, to turn all of his training and skill that earned him his rank into a victory. 

His world fell down around him with the sound of Wash's tortured screams. 

_“Make it stop!”_

The voice tore through the air. Wash's voice fluctuating between his own and one York had to assume belonged to the AI he was being implanted with, Epsilon. To call the sound horrific wouldn't have been strong enough. It wavered in the air, a soul rending screeching mixed with something like the sound of shattering glass. With his good eye Wash could see North growing painfully tense next to him, and if he turned just right there was Carolina leaning against the frustrating side of the one-way mirror, her eyes wide and mouth agape, something like fear written plainly on even her face. 

_“Please!”_ Wash screamed, “I'll do _anything! **Just make it stop!”**_

“What's...” North began to ask, and yet even as the words registered York felt certain he shouldn't have been able to hear them through the pained noise. 

“Why aren't they stopping this?” Carolina demanded even as she took a step back from the mirror. The movement was a timely one as a loud crash of metal punctuated the latest screams. 

“Let me _go!_ I have to... I have to... _Allison!”_

It hurt more than he remembered, the frighteningly in-sync shouts of the AIs reaction to that name. Delta's voice raced through his head, running over that name in a painful loop, driving him to his knees like the last time. Like the last time he found himself pressing his hands over his ears, for all that the action couldn't come anywhere near close to stopping the noise. All he could do, all he had been able to do the last time, was wait it out and hope his head didn't explode from the pain. 

Then Delta was silent and another voice altogether was echoing through Recovery One. Not Wash's, not the pained screams that made it sound more like torture than any implant procedure York had waited through. Instead the maddeningly, sickeningly calm voice of the Counselor over the loud speaker, sounding for all the world like Washington wasn't just on the other side of this glass. Sounding like the other room hadn't seemed like some cruel torture chamber just moments before. 

“Pilot Four Seven Niner to docking bay one. Four Seven Niner to docking bay one.”

“What...?” Carolina's turn to ask, and to get no answer. Already York found himself stumbling to his feet, momentarily thankful for his bad eye. He'd taken the chance to compare notes with North after the... incident a few days before. Apparently the doubled vision had left him stumbling around for hours. But one eye meant only one thing to mix up, and it gave him an edge as Carolina and North tried to get their feet under them behind him. 

York even managed to make it to the door half a second after he heard the security bolt slam home. 

“No, dammit!” he cursed and quickly punched his access code into the panel by the door. He didn't even wait long enough for F.I.L.S.S. to announce that the door was sealed for security purposes and to please wait for further details before punching in the override code he'd figured out only a month in to his stay on the Mother of Invention. 

“York?” North asked, his voice pained and slightly groggy. 

Not important right now, not nearly as pressing as the sound of people moving on the other side of the door. Not as important as a sound halfway between a whimper and a scream that he can impossibly hear through far too much metal that insisted on getting in his way. 

_D,_ he called in the back of his head, and the AI was there, a low hum in the back of his head looking out through his eyes and a variety of other sensors. Without another word he could feel the strange sensation of balancing and disconnect that came with letting the AI flow freely through him, right down to the tips of his fingers as they almost flew over the security panel. A series of minute corrections came seemingly before the mistakes could ever be made, but even while he worked York knew it was already too late. No, not too late. Too much. 

He'd never been good at doing this when he was upset. Locks—no mater their form, function, or level of complexity—took a calm mind. Took a gentle touch and patience and an eye for detail.

The problem was that his hands were shaking, his heart was racing, and his eye yearned for a single person he was certain was being swept away from him faster than he could overcome. 

Then there it was, another deep, threatening sound when the bolts finally retracted. F.I.L.S.S was still spouting something about security protocols and the reprimands he was likely to receive if he broke lock-down and stepped into the hall. Too bad he was already moving, halfway through the door before it was wide enough to get comfortably through. Not the first time he had run through these halls, his steps heavy clanks as his boots slapped the ground, but maybe the most important. Luckily they weren't alone. He can heard a familiar stride echoing in his own, something Delta's constant little background calculations immediately identified as North's even though York would never have expected anyone else. Further back another, faster stride, Carolina's, but something hesitant in it in a way that York couldn't put into words. 

Her voice was there too, shouting something after them as York slipped and slid around a corner, North hot on his heels. None of it registered to him, though. He'd have to ask Delta about it later, find out exactly how much trouble he was in with her. D would remember it word for word, even be able to get the inflection right though he'd lack the emotion behind it. Yet it wasn't followed by bullets, and it would take nothing short of quite a few of those to stop him now. 

“York!” Strange how he couldn't register Carolina at all, but somehow North's voice managed to cut through the pounding in his ears like a chain-gun through shoddily made metal supports. “You sure...”

“Quickest way to dock one,” he confirmed taking another sharp turn. “But it's... A little more direct.”

“Meaning?” 

How was it even possible that North sounded so calm right now? Just what did it take to ruffle that one's feathers? Well, ruffle them in a crisis situation as opposed to...

“Gonna have to take the express elevator.”

Half a moment of pseudo-silence as they pelt down the hall, mostly gained because before them was an unfortunate rank and file Freelancer soldier pushing a grav-cart loaded down with something or other. Delta's calculation came instantaneously and it was nothing at all to put just the right amount of force into the jump to let him sail easily over the stunned soldier and his cart and land back in his headlong run. How North dealt with it he didn't know, but a moment later he could hear those familiar foot falls behind his and York allowed himself a small breath of relief. This was going to be hard enough with too agents of their caliber. He didn't even want to fathom, or allow Delta to calculate, the odds of doing this alone. 

“We don't have an express elevator,” North pointed out after a moment, as if they hadn't just scared the shit out of some poor little worker bee in the Freelancer hive collective. 

“Only if you care about safety,” York countered as he allowed himself to skid to a stop and throw open the nearest door. North's sharp intake of breath as he registered their location, either on his HUD or with his eyes, did nothing to take the wind out of York's sails. 

“You're crazy,” North declared almost immediately.

“Yeah,” York agreed. “Craziest shit I've suggested today.” Then, without another word he threw himself over the railing of the stairwell and prayed that he wasn't over estimating just what he was capable of. 

_Now._

It had been hard to keep his arms and legs from flailing during the fall, but it was harder still to fight his brain's perception of gravity. Still, his body curled up in a tight ball when he asked it, and when he twisted to get his feet between him and the side of a railing his grav-boots enabled with all of the precision of timing that could only be achieved by an AI. All it took was a slight touch of a railing with his toe to find his leg almost glued to it. The sudden stop was jarring, even sent a shock of pain up his leg that was almost immediately dulled by the activation of his healing unit. 

“Idiot,” North grumbled as the older Freelancer came to a stop beside him. York just grinned as he looked at the other man, and the way that a decent bit of his weight seemed to be supported by a few panels of his energy shield. Leave it to Theta to come up with the cushier option.

_The discrepancy in strategies is heavily based upon the inherent differences between the capabilities presented by your respective armor enhancements,_ Delta immediately offered, but the comment was thankfully internal. 

“You know me too well,” York agreed, forcing all his usual cheerfulness into his voice. 

North came back with a strained chuckle as they moved, almost in sync, their grav-boots giving a slight protest as they pushed off of the railing and deactivated them. For a few moments the whole of his world narrowed down to timing. Push off the railing, deactivate, flip, activate, push off the railing, deactivate, flip, activate. 

“Approaching target coordinates on my mark,” Delta announced after what felt like an eternity but couldn't have been. “Five. Four. Three. Two. Mark.”

This time there wasn't a flip. Instead his hands came up, grabbed the railing, and he flipped easily over it. Just enough time to land on his feet before York once again threw himself into a run, slamming through the door with North hot on his heels. 

They stumble into the docking bay together in time to see the Pelican launch, and the Director whirl on them, a special kind of fury flashing in those piercing green eyes. 

“Agent York. Agent North.”

Falling to attention at that tone of voice was almost instinctive at this point. Still, York hated himself as he did it. 

“Wash...” Somehow he found himself able to force the name out despite the steady stream of cautions Delta was running in the back of his mind. As if he was going to back down now.

“Had complications during the implantation process caused by unexpected instability of the Epsilon AI. He is being moved to a special facility to address those complications,” the Director responded. “Neither of which are your concern.”

“Sir, we...” North started, only to be cut off as harshly as York had been moments before.

“You are dismissed.”

Neither of them moved as the Director strode past them, heading back into the belly of the Mother of Invention. Nor did either of them speak for the long moment that passed before, without a word, they turned and followed.


	2. Chapter 2

The worst thing about training had always been those moments when he would wake up, his head screaming with pain, and find himself still in his armor, sprawled on the training room floor. Those times when he would accept matches with York or North and only to have the reason they held ranks above him brutally reinforced. Still, there was something that could only be gained by facing someone far better than himself, a sort of drive that kept him going, kept him in the top six for all that he was still the 'rookie' among the Freelancers.

Nothing could quite compare to coming conscious in your armor, your best friends and... your best friends standing over you with a hand outstretched and a joke on their lips. 

Except, maybe, coming conscious in your armor to find yourself met with glaring white. 

Immediately Wash's hand slipped under the pillow that he shouldn't have been lying on, and his still gloved hand closed around the grip of the pistol that he always kept there when he slept. Not that sleeping with a gun under the pillow was comfortable at all. It was more that it was a habit he'd gotten into when he was just a regular enlisted soldier, one that hadn't seemed wise to shake just because he was a Freelancer. He sat up in the same motion as he drew the gun out, his left hand coming up to stabilize the butt of the pistol as he held it close to his chest. 

Everything around him screamed wrong in how it was coated with white. There wasn't a place like this aboard the Mother of Invention. It took too much effort to paint over the plain, almost dingy gray of a spaceship, so color was reserved for the few places where those homey touches were considered worthwhile. The medical bays, private rooms, and he was certain there was a whole swatch of colors in the areas reserved for the Director's use. Then again, the Director was a cold, hard man and it wouldn't have surprised Wash to find that the man was repulsed by the very idea of color. But here... there was more white around him now than he'd seen in one place before, even when he'd been looking in on Maine's surgery on Angel On My Shoulder.

Well, to be honest, if he had to describe it he'd probably have to go more for cream than white, but that was a matter of quibbling. The sheets below him were snowy white on snowy white with a snowy white accent, off-set by the pale cream of the tiles below him and the walls around him. Even the distant ceiling was a glaring white, made worse by the recessed fluorescent lights. Just looking around, regardless of the dampening effects of his helmet, was starting to make his head ache even worse than it had been on waking. Almost as bad as trying to remember why he was here.

_Don't tell them anything. They would kill you for what we know._

“No!” the noise tore from his throat unbidden as he dropped his gun and clawed at his helmet. No. No no no no no no! The voice was gone, it was supposed to be gone wasn't it? When his fingers moved to scrabble frantically at the back of his neck he couldn't feel the small protrusion of the AI chip in his neck. So why was there still the voice? Why wouldn't it stop?

Except the voice didn't repeat itself. It didn't offer up flashes of a blonde woman in a way that made his heart skip a beat and his eyes itch to cry. Instead there was the warning he'd heard in the second before the pain, not long before the doctor with the syringe had come at him. He had tried to fight it off, remembered smacking at the man's hand, and then a faint pain at the back of his neck. The Director had come up behind him, injected him with something. Almost immediately his body had gone limp, his screams had stopped tearing his throat so raw, and they had set to work tying him to a gurney. After that... Everything got really fuzzy.

None of which explained where he was right now, though it gave him a pretty good understanding of the headache. 

Without really thinking Wash's hands went through the motions of checking his gun, the only thing that kept him from thinking too hard about what he remembered. What he didn't want to remember. Nothing in the clip, nothing in the chamber, and with that the realization really seemed to set in. Sheets on the bed, but no high beams, hooks, rods or anything similar. The frame of the bed itself seemed made from the same tough plastics that more than half the furniture on the Mother of Invention had used, a plastic reputed to be nearly unbreakable. Then there was the far wall, almost completely dominated by a mirror. No, not merely a mirror, but a one-way mirror. It made sense, didn't it? Slowly Wash uncurled himself from the compact ball he'd managed to twist himself into when he'd clawed at his head. Ten paces to cross the room slowly, gun still in hand but more for comfort than any real use. It was more impulse than expectation that found him slamming the butt of the pistol into the mirror with all the force he could muster. 

Not even a crack. He could probably even take one of the two white chairs that waited near the third wall of the room and throw them at the window and achieve nothing. Not that throwing the chairs would be an option, as a cursory inspection informed him that they, much like the bed, were bolted to the floor. 

The bathroom was the real insult—if he chose to ignore the mocking edge of leaving him his armor and a weapon with no ammo. Here the white theme let up just slightly, instead erring toward a very pale gray. Again the lights were recessed into the ceiling high above him, covered with a plastic cover to be certain that he couldn't break anything to wind up with a piece of glass. The toilet was the annoyingly cold metal kind you found on spaceships, though clearly given a white powder treatment to try and make it look less like what it was. And the shower... No curtain rod, no screen, even the fixtures were all recessed into the walls or too low to present any sort of risk. 

The message of the place was clear, all he had to do was read it. Everything was clinical, impersonal, and most importantly, _safe._ No sharp edges. No places to tie up. No potential weapons. For all of the comfort and compassion it tried to whisper, the place screamed suicide watch. 

It was so pathetically plain that he couldn't help but wonder if they meant for him to pick up on it, or if they had just forgotten how smart he was. 

Either way Wash turned from the bathroom and started back into the main room. Someone would be by eventually to explain things if he was reading the situation correctly, or maybe he would be able to summon someone by yelling at the mirror long enough.

A flash of a blue armored figure out of the corner of his eyes froze Wash in place as he exited the bathroom. No, it... It wasn't possible. He'd checked. It wasn't possible that he'd missed it, missed something so glaring as...

_You're going to make me late._

Not again. Please, not again. He couldn't do this again, wouldn't do this again. She wasn't there, wasn't real, wasn't anything. 

_I have to go._

Stop it. Stop it stop it stop it stop it. Why wouldn't it stop? Hadn't he seen it enough times already? Her face was burned into his memory, from the way her hair fell in her eyes to the sad little curve to her lips. 

_But don't say goodbye... I hate goodbyes..._

Then stop saying it! Please, dear god, stop!

_The camera was heavy in his hand, as heavy as his heart. No, it wasn't a camera. That was on the desk in the other room out of reach of little hands. He'd promised to record so many videos to send them to her. Except there's an envelope in his hand. An envelope in his hand and a chaplain at the door with the uniformed officer and a shadowy man in the car at the end of the walk that he knows is another officer because they always have an extra one on hand in case the family reacts violently. It's reg right down to the uniform and there is nothing he wants more than to scream at them, to punch them, to rage and tell them they got it wrong. They didn't identify her correctly. She didn't always wear her dog tags like she was supposed to anyway. Kept them in her pockets. They must have just fallen out and they had it all wrong. So they had to leave now, leave before nap time was over._

_But his mouth can't form the words anymore than his legs can keep him standing. Half a second and he's on his knees in the doorway, staring blankly at the envelope in his hand with his name on it and then there's a hand on his shoulder and a voice trying to comfort him and they don't understand. They can't understand. She can't be gone. He never even had a chance to say goodbye. She would never let him. But they're helping him to his feet and ushering him into the house and he hears a low voice mumble something about coffee and even as he's being steered toward the couch he manages to catch a flash of red in the corner of his eyes. No... If not for his sake, then please, please... For hers let it be wrong._

For the life of him Wash couldn't remember pulling off his helmet, but the sound of it rebounding off of the mirror seemed to anchor him. He was here, was now, was staring at the way the black and dark gray of his gloves contrasted against the white tile under them. He had been the first member of his family in two generations to join the military. He'd never seen a death notification take place before. It wasn't his memory. Why wouldn't it leave him...

Even as Wash shifted back a bit, already preparing to get to his feet and retrieve his helmet, he saw it. The glint of blue armor. Not a full figure this time, but a small flash across the back of his gloves. Some strange play of light on his armor, but it was more than enough to make him recoil. Before he could think about it Wash had stripped off both gloves and started on the larger pieces of armor on his arms. 

He'd gotten good at this part. At stripping armor off faster than pretty much anyone else in the unit. Of course this was no official record he could claim, but before he knew it there was a pile of pieces before him. He sat on the floor beside them clad only in his black undersuit, his back pressed hard against the wall beside the bathroom door and his legs curled tight to his chest. His gun lay somewhere across the room, discarded in the initial flashes of... something he couldn't really put into words. All he knew was that something in that flash of blue, caught in the mirror out of the corner of his eye, had been the trigger, and he wasn't ready for it to happen again. 

Epsilon was gone. 

He knew it. Wash was as certain of that as he was of his name, both current and former. 

But if that was true, then... why hadn't the flashes stopped? 

“Agent Washington. Agent Washington... Why did you remove your armor?”

The Counselor's voice was the same sickeningly syrupy thing that it always had been, and yet it still took Washington a moment to register that it wasn't another delusion.

_Don't tell them anything. They would kill you for what we know._

A warning, one of the few absolutely clear thoughts that had come through when Epsilon had first touched his mind. In that blissful second between the fear of the procedure and the almost immediate unraveling of the AI in his mind. The shuddering, spiraling pain of Epsilon held back for just a moment for a blissful second of warmth and support and sorrow and a warning. 

“Need to clean it,” Wash lied lamely and finally pushed himself to his feet. He even managed to make it into the bathroom and wet a wash rag he took from by the sink before the voice followed him.

“Do you know where you are?”

“No,” he answered honestly this time, returning to the main room and plopping down by the pile of armor. At random he selected a piece of the leg armor and set to cleaning it with the same kind of attention he would have if he'd had a proper cloth and polish. Of course the proper polish was toxic to ingest in any real amount so he doubted he'd see an ounce of it before he was released from this place. “Figured you'd tell me when you got around to it.”

“You are in a secure medical facility to... address the complications that arose during your implantation procedure.”

“Figured that out too,” he said without looking up from the armor and trying hard not to let the brief glimpses of blue he caught in it make him flinch. Even if he hadn't remembered the hoarseness to his voice when he spoke would have clued him as to what had happened to some degree.

“What do you remember of that process Agent Washington?”

More than he suspected they would like. But Epsilon...

_They would kill you..._

“The doctor telling the Director that I was ready. A pinch in the back of my neck. Pain. Waking up here.”

“There... Was more to it than that, wasn't there, Agent Washington?”

There, for the first time since Washington had met the Counselor, was a small hitch in the man's voice. So small that he probably wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been paying attention. But it was there, sounding something a bit like fear.

“You put me here because of him,” Wash observed at length, hoping it wouldn't be giving away too much. “Because...”

_An apology and a goodbye all at once. A sensation of fear, of pain, of anguish so strong that he didn't properly have a word for it. Then a tearing in his mind. Spinning, spiraling, unraveling piece by piece but not just that anymore. It had always been those things. The second they had been aware of each other he had felt Epsilon flowing over, falling apart, dropping pieces of itself in his mind. Fragments of a woman and a sad smile and so much pain in his chest that it was hard to breathe for all that he couldn't stop screaming. Resolve and trepidation hand in hand before..._

“Because you're concerned I'm going to do the same thing Epsilon did.”

No response came for what felt like an eternity. Wash did everything in his power not to hold his breath, afraid that such an action might confirm what would otherwise only be a suspicion they couldn't prove. 

“And just what do you believe that was?”

For a moment Wash found it easy to call up the same kind of little smirk that York always used when someone was asking him a question they both already knew the answer to. York always hated it when they played games like this. Wash wasn't entirely sure he could blame him either. 

“The reason you didn't leave me any bullets.”

That must have been enough to satisfy the Counselor, because Wash found himself left alone with nothing to do to keep his mind from the whispers and echoes of pain in his head but clean his all but spotless armor.


	3. Chapter 3

“South, just calm down.”

“It's not fucking fair!” she shouted, punctuating the sentiment by punching the nearest wall. North resisted the urge to wince at the sound; there was no chance she had hurt herself, fully armored as South was. Yet the rare times when he wasn't in his own armor made him feel fragile, and all the more concerned for his twin's well being. Still, he managed to suppress the urge to obviously worry about her—a sentiment that would clearly be misplaced—and sighed through his nose, lips thinning as he pressed them together into a tense line.

“South...”

“No! I don't want to hear it! It's not... I just...” South sighed, shaking her head and returning to her former pacing back and forth across the limited clear floor space of North's room. “It's not fucking _fair,_ North. Wash goes and has an _episode_ and suddenly it's fucking unsafe to get an AI? And that after miss fucking must-always-be-number-one demanded and actually got _two,_ stealing my original spot? And somehow that is oh-so-fucking-kay! I mean... you guys still get headaches and shit, right? What's a little melt down?”

North desperately wanted to point out that what he'd heard had hardly been a 'little melt down' but clearly his sister wasn't in the mood to hear it. Instead he watched her continue to flail her hands about a bit as she spoke, pacing an increasingly shorter distance in each direction until at last she turned on him and stared at him hard. Shit, she had actually expected an answer to that. Nervously he shifted on his bed, moving to rest his arms on his knees and hunching his back as he met her eyes. 

“It's not that easy,” he started to say, well aware of how stressed he sounded and knowing she'd be able to pick it up easily. Of course it was made even easier by the fact that everyone seemed stressed since yesterday afternoon's incident. 

“Oh, whatever! Just... argh, it's not _fair!_ How come she got two? No. No, how come Wash freaks out and she still gets to _keep_ her two?”

Talk about another loaded question, but South was full of them, wasn't she? He didn't have an answer for it either, for all that he was fairly certain that if he did and offered it to her, it wouldn't be nearly enough.

“I don't know,” he sighed instead. It was apparently all she needed because with the comment South sighed as well and ran a hand through her hair. 

He wanted, desperately, to be able to tell her it would be okay, that she'd get her own AI soon enough. The problem with that was that he highly doubted it himself, was still a little nervous that they might take Theta from him. 

And he wasn't in the business of lying to the people he loved. 

“It's just so fucking fucked,” South muttered at last. 

“Mmmh,” North responded, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Just over twenty-four hours and there was already a great deal of conflict over what had happened to Wash among the Freelancers. Those who hadn't been there were a bit more torn over what they'd been told. North had been there, had heard it through walls that were supposed to be just this side of sound-proof. Wash's pain wracked screams still echoed in his head, and had plagued his dreams the night before. In the end it had taken Theta actively interposing himself between North and the deeper parts of REM sleep to let him get any shut-eye at all, and he'd woken wearier than he ever had before in his life. 

_Let me go! I have to... I have to... Allison!_

“I'm gonna grab something to eat. Want anything?” South's voice cut through the memory easily. When North blinked and looked up at her with a half-hearted smile he could see something a little like concern on her face. He must have zoned out again, he'd been doing that all day. Still, it was nice to see that she could still manage to worry about him. Theta's presence had... strained their relationship. 

“No thanks,” he answered anyway. He doubted he'd have any better luck keeping it down now than he had last night. Thankfully South didn't press the issue, merely nodded before turning away to walk out of his room. 

_Please! I'll do_ anything! _Just make it stop!_

North closed his eyes and tilted his head back to rest against the wall. The screams, the terror, the whole scene played out behind his eyelids in startling detail. The first one had stopped them all on the spot, so sudden, that York had actually frozen in the middle of one of his teasing jokes. Carolina had gone absolutely rigid, and a flicker at her shoulder had betrayed the concern from her AIs as well. The worst part, though, was that only York had realized just what Four Seven Niner's summons had meant. North had still been reeling from Theta's feedback loop and York had managed to not only get to his feet, but get the door open before North had understood and started after him. Then the mad dash for the Pelican, the insanity of throwing themselves down a stair well without the proper gear and in full gravity, and still...

Still they had been too late. They'd made it just in time for a scathing yet unembellished dismissal from the Director, to watch the Pelican—and by extension Wash—fly away despite their best efforts. Then there had been Carolina, somehow waiting for them in the corridor when they had left, her helmet back in place to hide whatever expression she hadn't been able to school. In a way North had been grateful for that. He hadn't been, and still wasn't, ready to see pity in eyes the same green as the ones that had denounced their actions with a single glance, only to later add insult to injury by handing down a three day suspension for both York and him. 

With a groan North raised his hands to rub his temples, as if that would somehow manage to drive away the memories. 

An almost timid knock on his door pulled North's hands away from his face and got him to look up. 

“Come in,” he called out, and when the door slid open he was unsurprised to see York standing there, dressed in a combination of tee and sweats, much like North was. To be honest North could tell they were same ones he'd been wearing the night before, not that North was in a position to judge. 

“Hey,” York greeted as he shuffled into the room. 

“You okay?” North found himself asking, already certain of the answer.

“Ah, well, you know,” York came back with a shrug, “not really.”

“It's been a trying day,” North offered and York chuckled, a painfully humorless sound.

“Yeah, you got that right,” York agreed as he shuffled to a stop in front of North. For a long moment a silence hung between them, until at last York licked his lips and shook his head. York even managed to open his mouth to say something before turning his attention to the floor, shoving his hands into his pockets before he finally got what he wanted to ask out. “You got Theta pulled?”

They both knew he didn't, that North never really wanted to do that to his AI. Still, the question was a weighty one, and after York looked up long enough to meet his eyes, North nodded a silent acknowledgment. 

_Theta, York and I need to talk privately for a bit. Will you be okay on your own?_

_Yeah,_ Theta came back immediately, and before the response really formed in North's mind he felt the AI pulling back from the edges of his senses, retreating instead into the chip implanted in the back of North's neck. There was still the smallest connection, of course, but North knew Theta wouldn't reopen their connection without an order to do so.

“Who do you figure Allison is?” 

Another damn good question in a week full of them. The Freelancers had been quietly whispering about that back and forth to themselves when they were certain there were no AIs or monitoring systems listening. Something in that name had set them all off, leaving the whole group of implanted Freelancers save Texas crippled by a painful feedback loop. A glaring weak point in the system, but no one had figured out what to make of it, yet. Wash's screams had only been the second time they had heard the name with the AIs around after all. No one had dared to test whether it was a safety implanted in the AIs by the Director or something anyone could trigger, and Carolina had wanted to explore the question least of all. She'd all but quietly forbidden it among the group, and most of them still respected her enough to obey. Those that didn't either weren't affected, couldn't speak on their own, or were South and thus careful not to say it in his presence.

“I honestly don't know,” North admitted with a shrug. 

“Well, at least we've cleared up the question of whether it's the name or the Director that has that affect,” York laughed, again without any spirit behind it. It was enough to make North grimace, not that York seemed to notice. 

“What... do you think they'll do to Wash?”

“Don't know,” North repeated, and it hurt so much that he had no better answer. He couldn't even look York in the eye, returning his attention instead to the spot between his knees he'd been defaulting to since he'd come back to his room the night before. 

His attention held there until the sound of York shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot made North look up once more. The expression on York's face was unreadable, almost a miracle considering how expressive the laid back Freelancer was without his helmet to protect him. 

“I... asked D if he knew what went down.”

“Oh?” North asked, quirking an eyebrow. 

York nodded nervously and brought his hands out from his pockets, one even going up to rub the back of his neck. North flinched at that motion. On someone else it would be a sign of nervousness. On York it was a sign that North wasn't going to like what he was going to hear next. 

“I asked if he could maybe... get into the camera feed of the operating room.”

Well that, at least, explained why York was here rather than waiting for North to finally give up on the questionable refuge that was his room. Snooping around was against protocol, with some pretty hefty punishment since the C.T. incident. Yet the personal rooms of the Freelancers were, supposedly, exempt from any potential monitoring. No one was sure just how far to trust that assurance, but the Director and Counselor had yet to interfere in anyone's personal business, so the hope was that it held out. North considered staying silent, unwilling to give York more rope to hang himself with if they really weren't secure here, but... ultimately he had to know. 

“What did you find? Can Delta even do that?”

“No,” York chuckled, this time legitimately. “Hell no, but I asked and D got really evasive. I think the curiosity they have about the Alpha gets the better of them during implants, that they monitor the process closer than they really should. When I pressed him he said I wouldn't like it. I told him, cause yeah, hearing my bo-- my friend flip the fuck out was any better. At least this way I'd be able to see what made him so...” 

York paused for a moment, his hands clenching and relaxing at whatever moment of the events he was remembering. “D compromised. Said that while he wasn't comfortable divulging the video feed he would let me listen to the whole thing. We did basically hear half of it, so he claimed he didn't see any harm.”

Despite himself North frowned a bit. “That's... still against regulation.”

“Whatever,” York shrugged, “he knew it was too, but...”

“You're rubbing off on him,” North provided

“I guess,” York agreed faintly, before moving to sit on the bed next to North. His own knees came up to his chest, a defensive gesture neither of them commented on. After all, who was North to judge him in this situation? He'd felt almost frozen in the position himself for the better part of the day. 

When York spoke again his voice was quiet, distant for all that he was closer. “I listened to it. I listened to it five or six times. Hell, maybe twenty. North... something fucking went down in there.”

“Clearly,” North couldn't help but murmur. 

“And it...” York tried to continue, but when his voice trailed off it didn't pick back up after a moment. North hated himself for the fact that it took a minute for him to move to put his arm around York's shoulders. It was painfully obvious that York needed him right then, and yet North still found himself so tied up in his own emotions that what should have been second nature to him seemed... strange. 

“Shit, it scared me,” York finally did continue, seemingly strengthened by the contact. “It chilled me to my bones. My core. North... That _wasn't_ our Wash.”

“He had an unstable AI implanted in him,” North recited the party line on the situation, hating the way the words tasted in his mouth, “so of course not.”

“I know, but...” Again York trailed off, but this time it was because a hand was going into his pocket again, apparently to retrieve a small device that he held up for North to see. “Do you want to listen?”

The question was so quiet it was barely there. The worst part was that North knew he should say no, that he wanted to say no, but the look on York's face made it impossible. Wash may have been the one screaming in pain, but the anguish on York's face was enough to steel North's heart. He had to do this, not for himself, but for York. For Wash. So he nodded, slowly, and held his breath as York hit play. 

_Is it, uh, gonna hurt? Because York..._

_Disregard anything Agent York has told you. It will only hurt if you keep talking, Agent Washington._

_Wash is fine._

North spared himself a moment to smirk faintly at the declaration. Wash had been fighting a losing battle to get the Counselor to refer to him by the diminutive since he'd has his codename assigned to him. North was pretty sure it was habit for Wash to correct him at this point, not any real expectation of change.

_Please lay still._

_Oh. Yeah. Right._

For a while there were only the background sounds of preparation, ones North found easy to identify if he closed his eyes. His own implantation hadn't been too long ago, after all. The sounds of feet shuffling, trays being wheeled around, a light 'clunk' that had to be the large purple memory unit that stored the AIs before downloading into the chip being put on a table. And then, there, the strange creak-groan of armor sliding across the faux leather of the operating table as Wash no doubt climbed onto the table. 

_Please lay down._

_So... is it like a flu shot? Like, an in and out kind of deal?_

_A localized anesthetic will be applied to numb the area where the chip will be implanted, Agent Washington._

_Wash is fine._

_From what the others have said of the process there is a slight sensation of pressure. After which you will first hear the voice of your AI. This can be disorienting at first, so we will sedate you before transportation into Recovery. When you awaken one of the senior implantees will be present to help you learn to handle your AI._

North had winced when the Counselor said 'slight sensation.' That hadn't even come close to describing it in his experience. Sure, the skin didn't feel anything but pressure, but the chip didn't do any good if the connection spike didn't pierce the vertebra and make contact with the spinal cord, allowing direct interface with the mind through the spike as well as the suit through a small contact made between the helmet and the back of the neck. That was where the real pain came in. No amount of local anesthetics made piercing the spine as painless as the Counselor had described it. Just thinking about the process made North's hand come up to rub at the chip imbedded under the skin at the back of his neck, a gesture made easier by the faint bump of scar tissue that covered and surrounded an exposed bit of metal no bigger than the head of a pin easy. 

_So I'll be awake for the whole thing?_

_You will be aware, but it will also seem like a dream, Agent Washington._

_Wash is... never mind._

_Please relax._

There was the tell tale beeping of a heart monitor in the background now, along with the various hums, clicks, and different beeps of other machines. At last the pronunciation came down. 

_He's ready._

_Hand me the Epsilon unit, please._

The quiet hum of anti-grav takes up the background, the sound of anti-grav boots activating and securing themselves to the floor all around the room. 

_Sir, Agent Washington is prepped for the Epsilon AI._

For a moment it was quieter, filled only with monitoring equipment and the low whir of the tiny drill that would punch the hole for the chip's contact spike. Then the room exploded into a cacophony of noise, staring with a scream.

_Agent Washington's vitals are spiking._

_Where am I?!_

North's hand moved to cover his mouth as Wash spoke, his voice already mixed with Epsilon's. The pain was already evident, already enough to make him sick. Yet York was still holding the device up between them, though now with his hand visibly shaking. Clearly this wasn't even remotely the bad part, but he already knew that, didn't he?

Another scream, this time punctuated by the gonging sound of a metal being kicked, then flying into the wall, scattering a rain of smaller metal noises in its wake. 

_Who are you people? Where... Oh god. Allison? Where's...? Where am I?_

_Secure him! Get him under control!_

The roar of displeasure in the Director's voice was already abundantly clear, but that wasn't the end of it by far, and North knew that as well as York did. 

_Make it stop! Please! I'll do_ anything! _**Just make it stop!**_

_Sedate him!_

_Let me_ go! _I have to... I have to... Allison!_

North grit his teeth as he listened to Wash's voice mixing and flickering with Epsilon's. The next scream, wordless, was enough to make the device in York's hand vibrate. It was in stark contrast to something Wash seemed to whisper next, so low that North couldn't begin to decipher it.

_I said sedate him, dammit! Get the damn thing out of him._

_No! Please no! I have to_ help _her! Someone? Anyone! What are you doing to me?! Stop it! Please!_

_Counselor, prepare a Pelican. We're moving him._

_Right away, Sir._

_And shut that damn thing off._

The recording went dead then, leaving North to question just how long they had been immobilized by the screaming of the name Allison. It was strange, how short the recording was in the grand scheme of things, but how much they had managed to miss because of a single name. 

Then the audio file started to replay, halted only by York quickly fumbling to turn it off. North turned his gaze to York's, met the still unnerving combination of gray and dead white eyes, and for a long moment they sat there in silence. 

“I know I wasn't going to bring it up again, North, but...” York said at last, breaking their eye contact nervously. The device went back in his pocket as he leaned, seemingly unconsciously, closer to North. “Remember our conversation about the Alpha? How it creates the AI fragments or something?”

“You're still worried about the 'or something' part, aren't you?” North asked.

“Yeah.”

“I'm starting to worry about that too,” North admitted after a moment, tightening his grip around York's shoulders. 

Again silence dominated the room, though not for nearly as long as North would have wanted. Because the next question was the one he had most feared from York's mouth. Because it was the one he most feared from himself. 

“They're never letting Wash come back, are they?” 

North raised his hand just enough from York's shoulder to carefully touch the left side of his face—the other man still jumped when he was touched unexpectedly from that direction—and slowly pressed York's head toward him until his whole body was tilting over and his head was resting on North's chest. It was all he could do, because as much as North wanted to tell him that it would be okay, that Wash would be better and back before they knew it, he doubted it himself. 

And he wasn't in the business of lying to the people he loved.


	4. Chapter 4

_York, the time is currently 0330._

He'd never really been a morning person. No, maybe that wasn't a strong enough way of describing the sheer levels of distaste York had for waking up. When he had told his mother he was joining the UNSC marine corp, she had laughed at him. In fact, she'd spent a week laughing every time she looked at him. 

_Miles,_ she had said around the laughter, _the day you're capable of getting up at five in the morning without a complaint will be the day I keel over and die from laughter._

Sometimes he wondered if she would even recognize the man he had become since Freelancer. 

_Got it, D,_ York sighed in the back of his head. _Prod me if I fall back to sleep._

_Given the current state of your breathing and pulse rates I do not believe such shall prove to be a concern. Nonetheless I will continue to monitor the situation._

The simple fact of the matter was that he had barely slept. The same story now as the night before: too fucked up to risk closing his eyes that long. It was like he woke up every other minute because of the memory of the screams. Delta, of course, had been quite concerned, even suggesting York sleep in his armor so that he could use the healing unit's resources to keep York sedated. Of course the idea had been ridiculous, and in the end it was only with Delta promising to wake him if he started having a nightmare and to get him up this early regardless of how well he slept that York had managed to nod off at all. 

Well, that and the pure concern painted all over North's face when York had gotten up and said goodbye for the night. Okay, so maybe it was more the fact that he barely made it a full step before stumbling from his own fatigue that had made Nic lunge from the bed and grab his arm. Even then it had taken quite some time for Nic to coax him back to the bed and get him lying down. They'd spent the rest of the night with him lying in Nic's arms, whispering back and forth about anything and everything that didn't involve Project Freelancer or David. 

The problem was that there were so few topics that didn't fall into one or both of those categories these days. 

Still, there was something York knew he had to do, and he had known the only way to do it was when pretty much everyone else was sleeping. Especially Nic. York had already done enough to get them into trouble recently. They were only one day down on a three day suspension which pretty much meant no missions, no armor, no proper training sessions; the recording they had listened to twice the night before could have them ejected from the program; and they had briefly let Delta and Theta out to talk to each other before they went to sleep. Too many regs broken and the Director would... Well, no one knew what he would do. 

So this, this step further, was more than he was willing to involve Nic in. Which, of course, meant carefully slipping out without waking the other man.

_You could always concoct a rational reasoning for which you would be making an early departure. This has been in line with your pattern of interaction in the past,_ Delta helpfully offered, and York had to resist the urge to scoff.

_Yeah, but that was mostly to avoid letting everyone else know what was going on. And that 'pattern of interaction' you're talking about was normally Wash and North, not me._

The way Delta hummed in the back of his head made York certain that the AI desired to continue the debate, but had conceded the point to avoid further argument. That in and of itself was worrisome. Delta had never ducked away from lengthy discussions and analysis in the past. The fact that this was at least the fifth point he'd dropped in less than twelve hours was in its own way upsetting. York found himself pondering how to go about the tasks he had set himself, and here Delta was treating him with kid gloves. 

York was clearly more fucked up by all of this than he had been willing to admit to himself. 

Still, he wasn't going to let the opportunity pass. Behind him he could hear Nic breathing slowly, still sleeping, and York set his teeth. Now or never. Carefully he brought his hands up around the arm haphazardly thrown across his chest, and he immediately went still as he heard a grumble from behind him. Thankfully the arm didn't try to tighten around him, and it only took a minimum of wiggling to slip out from under it. Again there was grumbling, and York just slipped the spare pillow he had been using down to where he had been moments before. Predictably Nic's arm tightened as he snuggled up against the pillow. 

For a moment York stood there, looking down at his bo--, best friend and smiled at the peaceful look he found on Nic's face. That look had been pointedly missing since Carolina had awoken after her implantation. Of course York was pretty certain Nic could say something similar about him. 

_York, I do not wish to interrupt, but the longer you linger the greater the chance that Agent North will awaken and notice you. While I cannot condone your plans if you are truly set upon this course of action, prudence would be advisable._

_Yeah, well you've got plenty of that for the both of us,_ York sighed as he scooped up his discarded shirt and hastily donned it. Then, of course, he pulled his arms back in and twisted it so that the Grifball logo was on the front. If he was going to run into someone in the corridors he wanted them to see a sleepy Freelancer wandering the halls, not someone they assumed to be on an early morning walk of shame.

In fact, that was a pretty good idea. Quickly York brought his hands up to his head and mussed his hair a good deal more than he was used to. Now all he had to do was get himself a mug of coffee and the image would be complete. 

Soon the door to North's room was sliding quietly shut behind him, and York immediately started pointedly shuffling down the corridor. His current heading would take him right by the cafeteria, passing David's room on the way.

_You mean Agent Washington's room,_ Delta immediately corrected the thought. 

Right, Wash's room. It was against all regs to use anything other than code names and derivative nicknames for the Freelancers. None of them dared to use their real names outside of the 'safe' confines of their private rooms. Then again York had pretty much stopped thinking of himself as 'Miles' before Freelancer. With the marines he'd always just been Cunningham, and with Freelancer... Well, that one was obvious. Then again, it helped that he liked York far better than some name passed down to him from his father's side of the family. It wasn't like he'd ever really known them anyway. 

Still, it was important to use the right names, if only to keep their privacy. And, maybe a little bit, to keep South from trying to beat the shit out of him for accidentally calling her Nicky. 

The corridor was abandoned. Once it had been filled with Freelancer recruits, back in the early days before the program had started to narrow down even further. Long before anyone had even heard the idea of AIs being floated around. Then they had thought the entire project was just an elite special ops squad training to work with next-gen war tech. All of the rooms in this corridor and two of the other three corridors that emptied into the cafeteria had been filled with recruits. Now there were just the few of them left, concentrated mostly in this single corridor. Most of them had moved into a single hall when it had started getting eerily quiet, as their ranks thinned out. Now only Maine, South and Tex stayed separate from the rest of them, and all three of them seemed as intent on keeping as much distance between them and the others as possible. South had always been like that, as had Tex since her arrival but Maine... Well, that move had happened after Sigma and still prompted whispers. 

Wash's door was only about three down from North's, and on the opposite side of the hall. Still, no one was around when York made it that far. No heads poked out of their doors as York turned his attention to the keypad by the door and punched in Wash's access code. 

With the hall as silent as it was the error buzz was so loud that York's heart all but leapt into his throat. 

_What the..._

Again York punched in the code, slower this time. Not that he really thought he had gotten it wrong the first time. How many times had he seen Wash input it, how many times had he punched it in himself? Yet when he heard the same sound a second time York bit his lip. He should have expected it in truth. In fact it was pretty ridiculous for him to expect that he'd be able to get in there without a lot of work. F.I.L.S.S. had probably changed the code after Wash had been shipped off. Still, he had to try something, had to be certain that...

Be certain that he was wrong. 

With a sigh York punched in the override code that he'd tried to use in Recovery One, expecting nothing from it. Clearly if the Director was aware of his knowledge of it, he would have changed it immediately after he reprimanded North and him. He was going to have to work quickly to try and figure out the new...

The keypad gave a faint affirmative chirp and the door slid quietly open before York. Well that was... Unexpected. Foreboding even. But he'd come this far already and he wasn't about to stop now. All it took was a single step into the darkness of the room, then the door was sliding closed behind him with a barely audible hiss. 

_May I suggest,_ Delta started to ask, and York just shook his head. No way he was going to rely on F.I.L.S.S. to light the room. Too many records already existed on his accessing the room, and he could at least hope that someone entering David's room would go unnoticed longer than turning on the lights invariably would. 

Besides, York smiled a little to himself, David had always been prepared. It only took him a few seconds of fumbling around to find the small penlight David kept stashed on the top of the door frame. A simple twist of that and he was presented with a sight of a room both familiar and alien to him. Familiar in that he'd been in David's room so many times before, and alien in that all the little touches that had made it _David's_ were gone. No framed picture of his family on the low table by the bed. None of the collection of books that had dominated a small bookshelf, or the selection of spent bullet casings David had collected from all his missions. York had asked about those once, when David was adding one from the Sarcophagus mission. He could still remember the way David had stammered through an explanation that each casing reminded him that he was still alive, had made it through another tough task. 

“No,” York hissed, immediately moving to the dresser and hauling drawer after drawer open. No shirts. No sweats. Not a single pair of those stupidly adorable boxers that had snarky sayings printed on him that had always seemed more like something York would wear than David. Then he was at the closet, throwing open the door, and failing to find a single piece of clothing or the small box neatly labeled 'letters from home' that hadn't picked up a single letter in the whole time that York had spent as a frequent visitor to the room. No sandals just under the edge of the bed. No pack of that mint gum that David loved stashed away in his sock drawer. 

No anything. 

Even the bedsheets were different. New, crisp, waiting for a resident. Sure, all the Freelancers had their bedding cleaned regularly, but they were assigned sets in one or both of the colors of their armor. The Director, or Counselor's, little way of reminding them that even when they slept they were agents of Project Freelancer. Instead of steel and yellow there was just plain, serviceable white. 

It was all so wrong that for a moment York wondered if he hadn't just gone into the wrong room. Quickly he panned the penlight over to the only thing he was certain they'd be unable to get rid of as easily as a room could be stripped. 

_D?_ he asked, reaching for the AI. The light wasn't strong enough for him to be sure on his own, but Delta...

_Yes,_ Delta confirmed grimly. _I observe the presence of the indentation._

David had always been stronger than his size had implied, just like Maine was faster than he looked. York had once made the mistake of teasing David a little too much in the down time between their training sessions. It hadn't even looked like David was straining when he had lifted York up and slammed him into the wall. Even as York had wrapped his legs around the younger man's waist and David had adjusted his grip under York's thighs, York had been chuckling about David using Freelancer property to damage Freelancer property. Neither of them had realized until later that between the force of the motion and the durability of the armor York had been wearing at the time they had managed to put a small dent into the wall in the shape of York's back plate. When Nic had found it a week later he'd just rolled his eyes at them. 

When had it gotten so hard to breathe?

_York, I am reading a significant increase to your resting pulse rate, and an alarming drop in your blood oxygen levels. I would advise you take a deep breath and attempt to calm yourself._

Well, there was something to top the list of things that were, pointedly, not happening any time soon. Right up there with staying in this room. In the back of his mind there was a slight sensation of surprise from Delta as York stormed out, barely even giving the door a chance to open all of the way before he was out. Immediately his feet turned him to the cafeteria, and beyond that the locker room. This wasn't possible. This wasn't happening. Couldn't be happening. 

He froze mid-stride in the middle of the cafeteria as his eyes caught the leader board. There were still small asterisks next to his and North's names, denoting their suspensions. But there was a pointed lack of Wash's name anywhere. 

_York, I am growing concerned with your..._

_D, log-off._

_I do not believe that would be a reasonable course of action at this juncture._

_Log. Off._

Silence in his head. Both blessed and cursed. Then his feet are going once more, all attempts to hide behind the shuffles of the sleep deprived tossed aside for the sake of speed. If anyone tried to stop them, to question him, they were going to find themselves on the wrong side of a Freelancer on a war path. He'd just have to remember to find himself a good corner to work from to help compensate for the bad eye and the lack of Delta. 

The locker room was lit like it always was when he strode through the door, and as abandoned as he had expected. A shame. There was a sickness building in the bottom of his stomach that York was pretty sure could be dealt with by rearranging a few faces with his bare hands. But that wasn't as important now that he was here. There was Wash's locker, nameplate still in place. Removing it would have been a step too far, even for the Director he guessed. Again he punched in Wash's code. 

A cheerful affirmative chirp. It was enough to let York swallow down the growing panic. They would have changed the code here too if they were doing away with Wash.

No skateboard. No cats. Not even an abandoned piece of fruit from breakfast there always was. Nothing. Just three metals walls, a few bare shelves, and nothing. 

Nothing. 

It was almost like Wash had never been there in the first place. 

Only a hole in his chest that seemed to grow with every breath.

_York._

_York?_

_York are you listening?_

_York._

_**“MILES!”**_

It was something in the use of his given name, or the panic that it was said with, or the voice behind it that made York's head jerk up so suddenly that he was probably lucky that he hadn't hit anything. Almost at once he regretted the motion as icy cold water started to stream down his face and into his eyes. But that didn't make any sense, did it? He remembered standing in front of Wash's locker, but here he was, sitting on the floor of a running shower, cold water cascading over him, with his legs pulled all the way up to his chest. His clothes were soaked through, his fingers and toes starting to go a little numb. 

“Miles, I need you to look at me.”

One blink, two, and then he's looking at North crouched down before him, still in the same tee and sweats, but it made no sense. He'd left North behind in his room, sleeping soundly on his bed, curled adorably around a pillow that York had offered in exchange for his freedom. Yet there he was, concern so plain on his face that York was certain that part of it had to be exaggerated. 

“Looks like you're finally getting through to him,” another voice said, and York's whole head whipped to the left because it just wasn't _possible._ And yet there she was when he looked, standing in what had previously been his frightfully large blind spot, a pillar of black armor, helmet canted down toward him. Instead of the normal over-confident stance the woman had about her there was something a bit more nervous about the way Texas was holding herself, and it took York half a moment to realize it was directed at him. 

“Miles, please,” North's voice came again, breaking one of their cardinal rules even as York turned his head and and saw North reaching out for him. Soon there was a hand on either side of his head—they were so blessedly warm—and he found his head being forced back to North. Desperation had joined the concern on his face, and as York stared into Nic's beautiful blue eyes he saw the familiar flash of violet further down that betrayed Theta's eager attention below the surface. 

“Nic?” York asked, surprised to find his own voice slurred, his teeth chattering. “I...”

“You gonna be okay with him?” Texas asked, and were it not for North's firm grip on his head, York would have looked to her because of the worry evident in her voice. 

“I got him,” North confirmed. “Just... Run interference?”

“As much as you're gonna need this early,” Texas agreed, and then there was the sound of armor shod feet moving away. All York could do was stare at North, certain that his face was as awash with confusion as it was with cold water. 

“I'm gonna turn off the water now. Don't move,” North ordered before releasing him and standing. After a second the constant pounding of water on his head let up and North had crouched back into his range of vision. “If I get you a towel could you get out of those wet clothes and dry off?”

York nodded and took the hand that North offered him, letting himself be hauled to his feet and out of the shower stall. His body knew the steps to undressing for all that his mind didn't seem to latch on, and his fingers searched for the bottom edge of his dripping shirt. But they were so cold, so clumsy. 

_Allow me._

Delta's voice was low, almost a whisper before the AI spread through his body. No tingles in his fingers this time, or maybe there were and he just didn't feel them. Still, he did feel his hands move of their own accord, grip the shirt, and haul it off over his head. No sooner was it off than North was back, pulling the wet shirt from his hands and dropping it. 

“Thanks Delta. I'll take care of the wet clothes. You keep him moving.”

The pants and boxers were off next, left in a wet pile on the floor for half a second while North pushed a large gray towel into his hands. Once Delta had closed his fingers around the material North was gathering up the wet clothing and taking it over to the laundry chute. They'd go straight to one of the facilities on the ship, ultimately resorted into York's things because of the identifier code that had been sewn into the hem of every piece of clothing he owned. 

_We are drying off now, York,_ Delta pushed at his thoughts, and York found himself moving to obey. He even managed to get the better part of his legs dried off before North reappeared at his side, putting a stack of clothes down on the bench behind York. His clothes, he could tell that with a glance. Well, North knew his locker combination just like he knew North's and...

“He's gone,” his voice croaked out as his hands paused in the process of drying his hair a bit. 

“Who?” North asked patiently as he pushed and pulled York into a sitting position on the bench. Their eyes didn't meet, mostly because North's attention had turned to forcing York's uncooperative legs into a pair of sweat pants. 

“David,” York whispered after a moment, finally returning his hands to motion on his head. “His room, his locker are both empty. And he's not on the board anymore.”

That made North's head jerk up suddenly, his eyes going wide. Then he was standing, walking away, walking right out of the locker room to the display that waited just outside. York slowly stood himself, pulling the pants the rest of the way up before reaching for the shirt. North was back sooner than he expected, looking positively haunted. 

“Idiot,” North cursed under his breath as he snatched the towel from York's hand. “What the hell was this going to do to fix any of that?”

“I...” York started, trailing off when he realized he didn't have an answer. But North clearly wasn't letting him off that easily, so York hauled on the shirt and then tried to meet those pained eyes levelly. “I don't remember getting into the shower. I opened his locker after finding the room empty and his name gone and...”

_You were upset,_ Delta added in his mind. _I attempted to speak to you, but you rebuffed all efforts at communication, threatening to pull me. I hoped you would behave rationally, or failing that, that you would become distracted enough for me to exert more extensive control to remove you from the source of the problem._

“D says I threatened to pull him,” York repeated in shock. “I... just remember being so mad.”

“Probably wanted to cool your head,” North sighed after a moment. “Well, we're lucky it was Texas and not someone else who found you.”

“She was really...?”

“Apparently Texas dominates the training room before we wake up just like Carolina does after all we level heads go to sleep,” North explained, throwing the towel around York's neck and slowly turning him toward the exit of the locker rooms. Every step forward squished uncomfortably for York, but there was nothing he could do about that. He never really considered storing another set of slippers in the lockers, or any kind of shoes really. 

“What time is it?”

_It will be 0403 on my mark. Mark._

“Early,” North offered instead. “What were you thinking?”

“I... Had to know,” York answered after a minute.

“You should have brought me with you.”

“I didn't want to drag you into any sort of trouble.”

North actually snorted in distaste at that. “I'm probably going to have to spend the next day trying to make sure you didn't get yourself sick from the cold. Apologize for the trouble you did cause later, and don't do stuff like this without me again.”

York started to open his mouth to protest, to bring up how distant North had been since Wash's implantation, how distant he'd been only hours ago. Instead he forced a smile. 

“Promise,” York agreed. “But don't call me Miles in public again, okay?”

“Don't give me a reason to,” North countered. Then he pulled York into his arms with a fierce hug. They stayed there for a moment before coming apart and exiting the locker room together. Texas waited just on the other side of the door, leaning casually against the right side of the hall. She gave them both a curt nod before slipping into the room behind them. 

“How did she know to go get you?” York found himself asking as he and North consciously put more space between themselves. Even now it was all about public appearances. 

North shrugged. “All I know is that I woke up hugging your pillow with Theta telling me someone was knocking. When I found her there, she just told me to follow because you needed help.”

York was no more sure how to take that news than he was his break down.


	5. Chapter 5

It was easier to wake up the second time. Of course no small part of that was based on the fact that when Wash had stretched out on the too-white bed the lights had instantly dimmed to barely perceptible. Granted it was still more than enough for him to see by if he would have kept his armor on, but looking at the pile of it hadn't been easy. Hell, cleaning it as if being kidnapped and taken to a secure facility slash suicide ward was exactly the sort of thing he was used to, as if this was just another day at the office. He'd managed to get through it, a piece at a time, without flinching at the glints of not-blue that made him think of Epsilon. 

Or maybe the waking up easily had something to do with the fact that Wash had spent about ten minutes before closing his eyes actively reminding himself that he was going to wake up here. Here and only here. Surrounded by white on all sides. In a cold bed. Neither North nor York there to press up against him and complain that he was taking up too much room. 

The room was still dark when he woke. It was still pretty dark when he pushed himself off the bed and made his way to the bathroom. There the lights came on immediately, and Wash set about stripping off the undersuit he'd slept in. 

It was so much easier to focus on the small things, one at a time, than to let his mind take a step back. So many things made him think too much. Made him think about Allison.

No. 

Nope. 

Worst line of thought ever. Of all time.

The undersuit took effort to peel off, like it always did when it was on for too long. Part of his head said to tidy up somehow, leave the black material somewhere other than in a pile on the floor, but really, what was the point? If they weren't going to treat him like a soldier, why the hell should he act like one?

At first the feel of water on his skin was a pleasure. That first touch of cool drops pelting his head made him want to sigh. The best part about any morning—other than the way that York was a complete and utter grump—was taking a shower. One so hot that it felt like it would cook him in his skin. 

Nothing he did to the controls got the water above room temperature. 

“Fuck.” 

Nope. Cursing at it didn't seem to achieve anything. 

“Oh come the fuck on!” he roared at the ceiling. “A little heat never killed anyone!”

A minute later he stepped from the small square that was the shower and snatched a towel off of a low table—also bolted to the floor—and ran it through his hair. What now? What the hell was he supposed to do know? Sit around in only a towel and wait for someone to bring him clothes? Pretend to have another fit to try and get attention so he had something to do? What did one even do when they were put into a pseudo-psychiatric ward for hardened members of elite military research units?

Of course there was only one choice that felt right, and before Wash knew it he was suited up and back in the main room, carefully mounting piece after piece of his armor. As he worked the lights in the room slowly came up, tip-toeing every closer to the painfully bright levels they had been at before he'd slept. By the time he was done the door on the other side of the room opened. 

“Good morning, Agent Washington,” the woman who stood framed in the doorway said as she entered the room. The door closed long before he could react, and Wash found himself left there, helmet held just above his head, staring at the woman and the tray she was carrying with her. 

“I prefer Wash,” he answered, more out of habit than anything else, as he watched her. 

“Of course,” the woman responded, still making her way toward him. Now, with the lights on and his shock set aside for a moment, he could easily see the tray—plastic of course—was stocked with a decent amount of breakfast foods. “I'm sorry if I've offended you.”

Slowly Wash lowered his helmet, moving it to hang on the slight hook that all Freelancer armor came with just behind the hip. When he took a step toward the woman, though, he saw the near stumble in her stride. 

She was afraid of him. 

_It was strange to see her like that. She'd never been the kind of child to flinch away from anything. Not from a raised voice or a harsh word, or an injury. No, Caroline was stronger than that. She took after her mother more than she had ever taken after him. But there she was, peeking around the corner at him, at the chaplain, at the officer. Before he could so much as say a word, or raise his hand or blink her eyes were wide with fear and she was running away._

The vision was gone as suddenly as it had come, and instead of a young girl with bright red hair he was facing a woman with short brown hair and a tray full of food, who was looking at him in bewilderment. And fear. He couldn't forget that part. 

“If I may ask, Agent Washington, just what happened right then?”

“You look like a girl I went to high school with,” he lied, moving forward once more. This time the woman didn't flinch, but when he took the tray from her hands he could see how badly they were shaking. 

It made sense, in a way. This woman knew who she was, probably had enough clearance to deal with him. That would mean she'd have a pretty decent clue of just how many ways he could kill her with his bare hands without really trying. 

_Don't tell them anything,_ Epsilon's voice urged in the back of his head, even though there was no way that it was possible. Epsilon was gone.

How many times would he have to keep telling himself that before he really believed it, though?

“I see,” the woman responded, moving to sit in one of the white chairs the room provided. Wash remained standing where he was for half a moment before making his way over to the bed.

“Agent Washington...”

“Wash.”

“Wash,” she conceded with a sigh, “where are you going?”

“You'd be more comfortable with more space,” he pointed out as he sat on the edge of the bed, placing the tray beside him. “And don't try to deny it. Let's pretend we're both completely sane and rational adults, and you let me eat my breakfast over where while you do... whatever it is you're here to do.”

“I'm here to talk to you about what happened,” the woman said, her voice level, but her posture saying she was glad for the distance. “I'm Doctor Abernathy and I've been assigned to your case.”

That was a polite way of saying it. The more honest answer was that she was here to deal with the fact that there had been another person in his head who had killed himself. But Project Freelancer was quite adept at complicating things with simplified terminology. 

“I see. Well then I guess you're the one that can tell me when I get to go home.”

That made Abernathy shift a little uncomfortably in her seat. Not the best sign. 

“That is yet to be determined, Ag... Wash. What happened during the implantation of the unstable AI has... not occurred before. We believe that for the moment you may require monitoring and counseling to help you process what has happened to you.”

“So what you're saying is that you're going to keep an eye on me.”

“I suppose if you wanted to put the situation into the simplest terms, then yes. We are going to keep an eye on you, make sure that you are safe and taken care of.”

Wash couldn't help but laugh.

* * * * * *

At least, Wash decided when Abernathy returned later in the day with his lunch, the food wasn't bad. Breakfast had been passable, though the eggs had been a bit runny. Lunch didn't even look half bad, especially since it included a pretty decent looking cold cuts sandwich. Not as good as the meatloaf back in the cafeteria, but it was something. 

“I was hoping you would be willing to talk with me for a bit, Wash,” Abernathy said after he had finished half his sandwich and the whole of his first glass of water. 

“What about?” Talking to her was far more interesting than sitting alone in the room, staring at the walls like he'd been forced to do between breakfast and now. For now he wasn't willing to risk the lack of mental stimulation by pissing off his observer. 

“Tell me about Allison.”

_Her hair is the color of straw. Her eyes were a shade of hazel dangerously close to a faint green._

“Allison?” Wash asked, keeping his attention on his sandwich. Shit, he'd have to see about having his helmet on for future encounters. Then again, that was probably why they sent Abernathy in while he was eating. Harder for him to hide his expressions. “I don't know any Allisons. Ummm... Wait, that... Was the name the Director shouted. The one when Texas and Carolina were fighting. All of the AIs seemed to react to it.”

“You were shouting her name when you were implanted.”

_No! Please no! I have to_ help _her!_

“I don't remember that.”

Abernathy bit her lip, and the look in her eyes said she didn't quite believe him. 

“If you won't cooperate with me, Wash, I don't know how I'm ever supposed to clear you for a return to duty,” she sighed, standing up and starting back toward the door. 

They were never going to return him to duty. They suspected, even if they couldn't prove. He knew things they didn't want anyone to know. The only problem was that he wasn't quite sure what those things were. Everything Epsilon had dumped on him was still there, but it was so jumbled up. So... scattered. 

“I'm sorry I can't help you, Doctor Abernathy. But... Could you see about doing something about these lights? They're a bit too bright. Oh, and a change of clothes would be nice. Maybe a tv?”

She paused at the door, only for half a moment. But in that time the lights dimmed a bit. Well, that answered that question. Someone was definitely watching them. Just what he needed. Of course he had suspected that anyway, but... Well, a guy could hope he supposed. 

“Enjoy your lunch, Wash.”

The door slid closed behind her. 

A hazy blue figure lingered where she had been for a second, and Wash was certain he heard a voice saying it was sorry. 

* * * * * *

The lights come up when he wakes this time, at the lower level they had been changed to when he asked. Slowly Wash levered himself up from the bed, let his eyes cast about the too white room. Abernathy hadn't stuck around with dinner the night before. She had just delivered him a bowl of soup and told him that his requests were being considered by her superiors. The smile she had given him had been a small, sad little one that had filled his mind with Allison again. Not just Allison, though. No, he'd also thought of Nic, the way he looked when Wash collapsed on his bed after a round of hand-to-hand with South. He was better than she was, only barely, but damn if she didn't try to break him every last time. 

There was something new to the room, and unfortunately it wasn't a television. With a sigh Wash crossed the room, stopping by the chairs where a new bookshelf had appeared—white of course, and bolted to the floor—while he had slept. He could feel his fists clenching as he stared at it. York may have slept like the dead, but Wash knew he slept lightly. The only way people could have gotten in here to do this was if he'd been sedated. Quickly his eyes darted toward the ceiling and the small, distant air grates. So, they could knock him out whenever they wanted with the simple flip of a switch. Wonderful. 

Worse was the selection. He hadn't enjoyed classic lit when he was in high school, and he sure didn't like it staring back at him now. 

That being said, he had to resist the urge to chuckle at some of the notably missing titles. No Frankenstein, no Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, no Moby Dick. Up and down the shelves his eyes traveled and still he didn't see anything like them. No books about revenge, or shared consciousness, or psychosis... Or torture. The urge to laugh was even worse at that realization. Someone was terrified of what he knew, and didn't seem to get that with each little move like this one, they only reaffirmed his certainty. They were never letting him out of this place. 

After his shower Wash checked the time on his HUD. He had awoken far earlier than he'd meant to. How could he not, with the dreams. Chances were Abernathy wouldn't be around with his food for a few hours yet. His eyes flicked to the bookshelf, and with a restrained sigh he grabbed the first thing his hand met and stalked over to the bed. Good or not at least it would be a distraction. Maybe it would even keep the memories at...

_She didn't ask for stories about princesses anymore. Allison wasn't there to call her 'my little princess.' Instead she asked for stories about heroes._

The book made a pretty satisfactory sound when it thudded against the far wall.


	6. Chapter 6

The only thing North found he could do was to keep his feet pinning York's to the floor. Even then he could feel the tension in York from the simple contact and the way he kept trying to pull his feet free so he could stand. Luckily they both knew that York trying to surge to his feet at the moment would just end up with him falling, so York just clenched his teeth and fists and sat there, glaring down at the mug of coffee before him. 

_I don't think he's going to make it,_ Theta whispered in the back of North's mind, and as much as he hated it North was pretty sure he agreed. 

Day three of their suspension, and North was pretty sure it was the first time since their suspension that they had attended a meal at the same time as the other Freelancers. The 'same time' was, of course, a rather inexact science. Even though everyone was up by 0530, the order they went about things in the morning was up to personal preference. Some would shower and armor up first and follow with food. Others ate and then got ready for the day. South rushed through food like she always had growing up, and York took his time, milking that early morning grogginess for as long as he could. North had always been somewhere in between.

So the truth was that neither of them had expected South to linger past when she'd finished. Neither of them had realized she was still raging from what had happened to Wash. And neither of them had realized that Carolina had just walked in to grab her morning bagel. 

So many little things that could have helped them avoid the situation.

_I think she might have been looking for this,_ Theta nervously disagreed. _Your sister is..._

_Difficult,_ North finished for the AI, knowing Theta would be too hesitant to say it himself. 

“If you ask me they should just keep going. So what if the program hemorrhages some dead weight.”

If he looked hard enough, if he met York's good eye and really looked, North could see the distant flashes of green that meant Delta was doing his best to deal with the situation. Delta, after all, was there as much to compensate for York's handicap as to temper his friend's impulsive side. And the latter had never been something Delta had been very good at. 

North had dedicated the whole of their second day of suspension to handling York. Some of that, he knew, had come from how terrible he had felt at letting York get so wound up in the first place. They shouldn't have isolated themselves; no, he shouldn't have locked himself away from York when they needed each other. But he had, and the only thing North had been able to do after Texas had directed him to the problem was to haul York back to his room, stretch his shell-shocked friend out on the tan sheets, and proceed to tell York stories about his childhood. Always ones he'd never gotten around to telling around Wash though. Eventually York had calmed down enough to discuss the finer points of how badly high school had sucked, and together they had made it through the day. No one had come looking for them, no one had said anything when North had slipped into the cafeteria at the end of the dinner rush and loaded a tray for two people, and not even South had dared to question him as he headed back down the hall and slipped into York's room. 

Yet there she was now, doing exactly the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time. 

“South...” York grit out between his teeth, and North found himself holding his breath. No, this was exactly the opposite of what they needed right now. Especially if he considered how York's tone had drawn every eye in the room to where they were seated. 

“What?” she came back, whirling on him with a snarl prominent on her lips. 

“Stop.”

The snarl morphed into something North recognized too well. A look halfway between disgust and amusement. Growing up he'd seen her use that look before she hauled off and punched someone at school, or on the street, or anywhere they went. The only way it could be worse would be if...

“Who's going to make me?”

North could see Carolina start to move forward, and for a moment he was hopeful. Then, somehow, York had pulled free of him and was standing, pushing the bench back as he did. His knuckles were white with his barely restrained rage. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see Carolina come to a stop. No, this would go so much better if Carolina had the chance to take the free training session time available to them every morning to put South back in her place. 

“I will,” York insisted, turning slowly to meet South's eyes. 

“You're kidding,” South laughed, and North saw most of the rest of the room tensing. 

South challenged people to fights whenever it seemed to cross her fancy. Maine and Wyoming weren't above challenging people for the sake of a good fight or to scale the boards. Carolina only ever seemed to go after Texas these days, rarely issuing challenges before then. Oddly enough the only people that North hadn't seen challenge someone to a fight before were Florida—one could argue that made him the smartest of their whole organization—and York. York had always been content to take fights as they came to him, to put everyone who wasn't Carolina in their place, and move on. York had always been level-headed to a fault, had always been the one to try and defuse situations when North wasn't around. To hear him flat out challenge someone...

“No,” York said, his voice dangerously low as he stepped away from the table and toward her. 

“You're on suspension,” South laughed. “You can't use your armor, can't enter the training room, can't do anything.”

“What, South? Afraid to face me without the armor?” York asked, and as he did something seemed to go through the room. Carolina was still not moving, watching in as much shock as North was himself, and yet there was motion. It started with Florida. That one always knew how to read a room. He was suddenly on his feet and hauling the table he was sitting at to the side. Wyoming and Maine followed his example almost immediately. Before North knew it there was an open space on the cafeteria floor around York and South. 

“You're kidding, right?” South asked. Yet there was something in her voice that North was certain only he could pick up. His sister was crazy, blood thirsty, and altogether angry in ways that didn't make sense. But even she knew when she was out classed. Maybe in armor she could take him. Maybe with weapons she could take him. Maybe in an unfair match she could take him.

Sometimes in the face of Texas and Carolina, and the fact that York was primarily an infiltration specialist, it was easy to forget just how far York stood over the rest of them, even with his bad eye. 

“Afraid?” York countered immediately, stretching first one arm across his chest and then the other. “I'll even let you have the first swing.”

“You're on,” South said at last, tossing her helmet to Wyoming and then immediately moving to the clasps on her chestplate. 

“Are you really going to let them do this?” 

Carolina's voice was low behind North. When had she even moved? 

“What do you expect me to do? You and Texas are more qualified to...”

“She's your sister,” Carolina pointed out, turning her attention disapprovingly to where South stood, starting to strip the armor on her arms. 

_She might have a point,_ Theta quietly agreed. _You know her best._

He did. North knew both of them better than anyone else here. And, as much as he didn't want to do it, he knew exactly what would stop this. 

“Hey,” he said at last, pushing himself back from the table and stretching out to the full of his considerable height. He had at least a few inches on everyone else in the project, and that combined with his voice drew all eyes, save York's, to him. 

“He's literally asking for it, North,” South protested without halting in her armor removal. “Just giving him what he wants.”

_Do it,_ Theta whispered. 

For the fourth time in two days North broke a rule he had always tried to hold dear. 

“I know it's a tough concept for you but lay the fuck off, Nicky.”

The whole room went still, frightfully still. Nobody used personal names, it was against every rule. In fact, no one was supposed to _know_ anyone else's real names. Except for him and Nicole. The use of it had hit the room like heavy grav, and North refused to look around, refused to meet anyone's gaze. Instead he stared at his sister, his twin, and dared her to break eye contact. She looked at him with such hatred, such rage, and maybe a hint of betrayal. 

South moved rather than spoke, rushed past York through his blind spot. Might have gone better too if York hadn't seemed to be expecting it. His foot shot out and instead of running at North, she was falling. Carolina was there before anyone else could act, her arm out and catching South as she stumbled. 

“Don't touch me,” South spat angrily, but once she was righted on her feet she backed away from Carolina. There was still rage in her eyes, but her gaze was locked on to the unfeeling visage of Carolina's helmet. 

“Armor up, South,” Carolina ordered, her voice dangerously low. “And walk away.”

Another baring of teeth, and then South whirled on her heels and started for the pile of armor Wyoming had created on one of the tables. She was quickly rearmored and striding purposefully from the room, leaving everyone behind in the same old silence. North felt no shortage of attention on him, but he'd deal with that later. His eyes were solely on York, who still waited in the middle of the cleared space, his expression dark as he stared after South. 

“Nicky,” Wyoming chuckled suddenly, and like that the better part of tension in the room was gone. “Oh my, that is priceless.”

“Don't let her catch you using that,” North warned him in an off-handed manner before moving for York. “I'm lucky she didn't cave my skull in.”

“You're welcome for that,” York grumbled under his breath as he finally turned to look at North. There were still flashes of green behind his good eye, but they were less frequent now. 

“I'll make sure you two are on the books for tomorrow morning,” Carolina offered to York before following South out of the cafeteria, her morning bagel apparently forgotten. 

“Thanks,” York mumbled under his breath before turning to help Florida get the tables back in order. 

Soon enough the cafeteria was set to rights and the armored Freelancers made their way out, all no doubt headed for morning training sessions. North found himself left alone with York. 

“What did I tell you about being reckless?” North asked after pressing a fresh mug of coffee into York's hands. 

“Go for it every second of every day and take pictures while I'm at it?” York chuckled. 

It was all North could do to keep himself from smacking York upside the head. 

“You're gonna get in trouble for that you know. For the name thing.”

North shrugged and gestured back in the direction of their rooms. “Listen, I'm not really in the mood for more arguments with South today. And as we're not getting released today either... What say you to a movie night? Well, day really.”

He expected York to go stiff, and wasn't let down. 

“I...” York hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, let's do that.”

* * * * * *

There was a point where movie night was only that. A habit York claimed to have carried over from his time as an enlisted. Every third night with his old unit had been 'movie night,' where they got together in the barracks or wherever they could, threw some old Earth films up on a monitor, and just tried to forget they were at war. By the end of his first week on the Mother of Invention York had talked the better part of their numbers into setting up in the cafeteria, which apparently the Director and F.I.L.S.S. hadn't seen a problem with at the time. By the time the third week had rolled around the group had gotten tired of York's movie choices, leaving the interested group small enough to all fit in a private room, if they didn't mind accidentally kneeing each other. Mostly it had been York, himself, Connie, Georgia and Utah. And from there it had naturally dwindled down to two.

It had been on a movie night that York had finally found the courage to kiss him. It had been through movie nights that they had wooed Washington. Movie night had become sort of the way the three of them found time to be alone together. No one questioned it because York had been having them since the beginning, because North had been there the whole time, and because Wash had just been a natural progression of what others saw as a close-knit group of friends.

Which, of course, meant the very idea of movie night was a weighty one. 

“I'm... Suddenly a lot less certain about this,” York mumbled as he fell back onto his bed. 

North rolled his eyes and ran through the list of movies on York's storage drive, frowning over how many were York's favorite heist movies. Granted they were a bit better than the space marine movies that Wash seemed to have a taste for, but really, neither of them had much taste. Still, York needed something right now, and so North picked the one that would hopefully remind him the least of Wash. 

“And I'm pretty sure you need a distraction,” North countered as he queued up the movie and then flopped onto the bed to join York. Immediately he pulled Miles into his arms, kissing the side of his head. “You like this one, right?”

When the first scene came up Miles even chuckled at the choice. It had been this movie they had been watching when they had first kissed. Miles liked to refer to it as 'their' movie, something they had never shared with David. The three of them all had things they only shared with one of the other two, things that were unique to their private portion of the relationship. “Feeling sentimental?”

“Maybe,” Nic agreed as he pulled Miles closer.

“Why else would you pick this?”

“I've got a thing for safecrackers,” Nic forced himself to tease. 

They settled in with a comfortable silence for a time, Miles's eye glued to the screen, seeming to welcome the distraction. But the longer they watched, the less calm Miles seemed, until, even as the movie was reaching it's climax, York pulled away from him completely.

“This... this is wrong.”

“Miles...”

“Don't call me that,” York snapped, pushing himself to his feet. “Dammit the only reason you even know that name is because of _him.”_

Exactly the direction Nic hadn't wanted this to go. The point was to not think about David, about the fact that... well, just not to think about him. But Miles kept coming back around to the same topic over and over, like a dog with a bone. 

“We would have gotten to it sooner or later,” Nic offered, staying on the bed. 

“No. I don't think we would have. We were... are different because of him.”

“Miles,” North repeated, finally standing himself, “we'll figure something out. We'll get him back. Just... give it time.”

“Time isn't exactly something we're rolling in, Nic. Never has been. The Director, he's got something planned. Always has. Except now it's accelerating out of control and we're stuck here, trying to keep up. If we don't do something soon... We might never have the chance.”

“Then we'll figure something out,” he promised, reaching out to cup Miles's cheek. “But it's kind of pointless for us to try before we're off suspension. Nothing we do is going to amount for much without our gear.”

That seemed to calm Miles down a bit, enough that Nic leaned in for a kiss, only to be immediately pushed back. There was a flash of green in Miles's eye half a moment before he shook his head and threw his hands up in frustration. 

“What...” Nic began to question, only to have Miles flop back down on his bed. 

“D didn't think that was _logical._ Seems to have forgotten he's not invited to movie night.”

That comment, frustrated as it was, still made Nic smirk to himself. Their AIs had been banned from private time pretty early on. David had always been... less than comfortable with the idea of being observed. 

“So what was it?” he asked instead of chuckling, knowing that Miles would take it personally. 

“I...” Miles shook his head and then buried his face in his hands. “I can't. I just can't. Every... Every time you touch me I can't help but think of him and remember what I saw yesterday. No, what I didn't see. They're wiping him out, Nic. Erasing him. And for the life of me I don't know how to separate this from him.” 

The problem, Nicolas was starting to realize, was that he couldn't either. So where did that leave them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was working on this chapter I couldn’t help but think about all those RTAA clips with Joel interrupting an argument and chanting ‘fight fight fight kiss kiss kiss.’


	7. Chapter 7

In the whole of the universe there were few things that fit so well as the undersuit to a set of Freelancer armor. It all but melded to the skin as soon as it was donned, the seemingly coarse and loose weave of the damage resistant fibers tightening to a surprising snug around the arms and legs. Putting it on was a chore and a half to do in a haste, and yet York couldn't help himself. There had been a time early on in the program, and the military in general, where he had daydreams about having a weekend off from training, from the armor, and from the damn undersuit, but now he knew better. Three days without his armor had made him feel, in a way, naked. 

And he didn't even want to fathom what it would be like to wear armor that wasn't in his distinctive colors. 

_I am sure that with sufficient time in which to adapt, you could easily grow used to armor of another color,_ Delta observed in the back of his head. 

_Yeah, but being able to and wanting to are very different things, D._

_Noted._

With the undersuit finally on and secure York stretched a few times to be sure of the fit before he turned his attention to the beauty of his armor before him. 

“You look like a kid in a candy store,” North chuckled as York heard him flop down onto the bench behind him.

“Not quite,” York laughed as he pulled the first pieces of leg armor from the storage locker. “But damn close.”

“Just remember, don't over do it on your first day back in action.”

“Yeah, yeah, I'll remember to leave your sister in one piece, if a bit bruised,” York came back with a smirk, before turning to look over his shoulder at North. Truth be told, he hadn't expected the strained look on North's face. “I just...”

“I know,” North answered with a sigh, an armored hand coming up to run through his hair. “It's just... This isn't really like you, York.”

“Come on, North, it's only a little match,” York tried to soothe North as he mounted piece after piece of his armor. 

_I believe Agent North is referring to the previous lack of active challenges on your record,_ Delta provided. 

_Yeah, D, I sorta figured that. But I couldn't just let this go._

_Agent North is clearly not of the same opinion as you on this matter. As I attempted to explain yesterday, the situation easily could have been rectified by allowing Agent Carolina to..._

_And like_ I _said yesterday, this isn't her fight._

_Are you entirely sure that it is yours?_

“I'm not worried about the fight,” North said after a moment. “I'm worried about what it's going to do to have you challenge someone. If you haven't noticed we're a little full up on people who deal with their personal issues through violence.”

“It's not like I'm looking to make this a regular thing. I promise you're not going to see me going after Wyoming just to stop all those damn jokes he started telling after they gave him Gamma.”

“Yeah,” North chuckled to himself. “His sense of humor was better before the knock-knock jokes. But...”

North just trailed off, leaving York with nothing he could do but continue armoring up. There really wasn't time to delay as he was due to meet South in the training room in a bit, and he had no intention of leaving her waiting. 

“If you've got something to say, North, just spit it out already,” York said at last, hauling his helmet out of the locker and turning to face North fully. The other man sat there for a moment, then shook his head with a sigh. 

“Never mind. Just... Don't go too hard on her. South's always had a problem with keeping her frustration to herself. We all came to this program expecting something, and in a way she's just had the rug pulled from under her feet. Again. The way she's dealing with it is wrong, like it has been most of the time we've been here. That doesn't mean you need to...”

“I'm only taking this as far as she is, North,” York sighed, shoving his helmet on. 

“Agent North,” Delta cut in as he projected himself before them for the first time in days, “rest assured that I will keep York appraised of South's condition so that he might best handle the situation.”

“You do that, Delta,” North sighed. “Good luck, York.”

“I won't need it,” he responded, turning and striding for the door. 

“Um... York?” 

His hand froze, hovering over the door-panel at the sound of Theta's voice. Even now it wasn't all that common for Theta to actively engage others, so having the nervous AI directly address him was... odd. 

“Theta,” North said, his voice tense with disapproval. Well, there went that. 

“North's still here.”

York found himself frowning, but he couldn't stay silent. Theta needed more stimulation than that. “I know little guy. Keep him company while I teach his sister some manners, okay?”

“Yeah.”

With that York opened the door and made his way through.

_Any clue what that was about, D?_

_If I was compelled to draw conclusions based upon Theta's limited statements..._

_And you are._

_Well, I would suggest that, given your current intent focus upon Washington and what has happened to him, Theta has grown concerned as to the state of your continuing relationship with Agent North._

_Oh that makes... Wait, what? Why would he be concerned about me and North?_

_Consider: While both North and you were involved in the attempt to reach Agent Washington after the failed implantation process, all actions that have been taken since then regarding the situation with Agent Washington have been taken by you alone. It was you who... convinced me to share the audio recording of the procedure. It was you who instigated the conversation with Agent North about your desire to do something to recover Agent Washington. It was you who took it upon yourself to break in to Agent Washington's room and locker and discovered the alarming absences in both._

_That all needed to be done, and I didn't want to risk North getting into trouble._

_After the discovery you then suffered from a temporary mental break-down, resulting in Agent North being forced to retrieve you and watch over you for a day. Then you proceeded to challenge Agent South to a match over her insensitivity to the situation. When Agent North attempted to comfort you through your habitual means, you rebuffed him and informed him that physical contact with him only served to remind you of the situation with Agent Washington, and were you thus unable to properly process separating your feelings and relationship with Agent North from the current situation with Agent Washington. Considering this string of events, I believe Theta's concern regarding said relationship is reasonably justified._

_I..._

York slowed to a stop in the corridor just before the door that would dump him into the training room. On the other side South waited for him, and everyone else would already be assembled in the viewing area to observe the fight. Only... At the moment, York wasn't as certain that he wanted it. 

_Have I really been that bad? ___

_My programming does not allow me to properly judge the full implications of your actions through the scope of one involved in a romantic entanglement._

_Fuck..._

_That may, indeed, be an apt description of your current situation._

With a sigh York punched the door panel and took a deep breath as it slid open before him. 

_If I might ask, how do you plan to deal with the situation in which you have placed yourself?_

_Well, D... When I figure that out, you'll probably be the first to know. In the mean time, watch my left._

“About time you showed up,” South called as York strode onto the training room floor. “And here I was starting to think you'd chickened out.”

“Me? Chicken? Now South, no need to get personal. We're just here to have a friendly little chat,” York countered as he moved further in, the door closing behind him. 

“Yeah, chat. Exactly what I was thinking,” South snarked, taking a moment to stretch in front of him. 

“Oh, now that didn't sound friendly at all,” York chuckled to himself and Delta as he stopped by the prep area. “So, what are we talking about here. Lock down paint, pugil sticks...”

“Stop playing coy and face me.”

“Be careful what you ask for, South. You just might get it.”

_Ready, D?_

_Affirmative._

_Good. Time for a little fun._

* * * * * *

“Part of me was hoping you'd draw it out a bit longer.”

_Proximity Alert!_ Delta announced at the same time as Texas spoke, leaving York sighing to himself. 

_You know, D, it helps more if you warn me before it's important to know._

_Forgive me, York, but Agent Texas is... surprisingly adept at being unnoticed._

_And yet she sure knows how to make an entrance._

“That wasn't the point,” York said as he walked by her, and he was surprised to find Texas fall into step with him.

“And here I was certain it was about shutting her mouth about Washington,” Texas mused in a way that made York freeze in place. 

“I just don't blame him for the freeze on the implantations,” York said after a moment. “The rookie was pretty fucked up by the whole thing. That being said, he wasn't dead weight. He had...”

“Yeah, I'm not buying that shit, York, no matter how cheap you're selling it.”

“I don't know what you're talking about, Texas,” York grumbled and started to walk again. 

He made it all of three steps before he found himself slammed up against the wall and pinned there by a single hand on the middle of his chest plate. Damn, he'd forgotten just how strong she was. Major mistake, but the truth of the matter was that he didn't remember the fight very well. Trauma like he'd experienced sorta did that to a guy. Well, to anyone really, but had she really been this strong? Seemed improbable. 

_Agent Texas is..._

_Not now, D._

“Don't forget who found you, York. You didn't close the locker.”

“Fuck.”

“Exactly,” Texas chuckled. “Take that with your reaction to South yesterday, your record's lack of challenges, and the vicious down back there—nice job by the way—paints a pretty clear picture. For future reference, if you challenge someone like that again, dominate them. The sort of toying you used on South may be satisfying for getting your point across, but it makes people wonder what you're trying to prove.”

“And what were you trying to prove?” York found himself snapping before he could really stop himself. 

_I would suggest that in the future you think before you speak around Agent Texas._

_Not helping, D._

_Sorry._

“Not important. And not why I'm here.”

“And just why is that? Because I've got to say that while this conversation is all sorts of pleasant, I've got places I'd rather be.”

“Two things. First, Director wants you and North to report to him. Don't ask why I'm the messenger, I've got no clue. Second, I think it would be in you and North's best interest to be in the classroom at 0130.”

With that Texas backed off, freeing York, and she strode off without a backward glance. 

_D... What the hell just happened?_

_Honestly, I cannot be sure myself. But if Agent Texas is correct that the Director is looking for you, I do not believe it is prudent for us to leave him waiting._

_Yeah, good point._

* * * * * *

“Agent York, Agent North Dakota. I presume you are both aware of why you are here.”

_To get yelled at one last time for good measure,_ York observed to Delta.

_My calculations suggest that your observed frequency of reprimands decreases eight-five percent for a period ranging from one to four months after an official reprimand from your superior._

_You've been in my personnel record again, haven't you, D?_

_Of course not. I only required a single..._

“You are referring to the incident a few days ago, sir,” North provided. 

“Indeed,” the Counselor answered with his usual calm and control. “We understand that you were concerned with the well being of a friend and teammate but...”

“Violating lock-down protocol is not only dangerous, but a blatant disregard for orders,” the Director cut in, clearly annoyed by how slowly the conversation was going. “Considering your exemplary records with the Project we have decided to leave this at the length of the suspension. But be warned, another violation on this level will not only find you stripped of your AIs, but immediately discharged from the program. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Sir,” York acknowledged even as he heard North do so as well. 

“Good. For the time being we have determined that both the Delta and Theta Artificial Intelligence units are stable, and are allowing their continued use. But you are ordered to report any abnormal behavior immediately.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You are dismissed.”

_Wait,_ Delta cautioned York as he was about to take a step back and head out. 

“Sir, if I might ask a question,” North said, reinforcing Delta's words. 

“What is it that concerns you, Agent North?” the Counselor asked, neatly interposing himself between them and the Director like he always seemed to do. 

“Is there any word on Wash's status?”

York bit his lip, thankful that his helmet hid the gesture. Strange how he hadn't even considered asking the question.

_Your mind has frequently been on... Less direct means of resolving the situation._

_Yeah, yeah. I get it. I'm being a shit friend and an even more shit partner._

_That was not what I was meaning to imply._

The Counselor actually looked back over his shoulder at the Director for a moment, though his face was as close to expressionless as it always was. The Director, of course, had turned his back on them and to whatever display it was he focused on when he didn't want to be involved with his subordinates. Of course that only served to give the Director a backdrop of the leader board; the leader board still lacking Washington, even with an 'inactive' brand. 

“The ordeal that Agent Washington went through was, as you may conclude, trying. When he awoke he requested privacy in which to recover. We suggested that it might be beneficial to his recovery for him to interact with other agents, especially those who have had a longer period of time to work with AI, but he insisted upon privacy.”

“And the reason he's been removed from the board?” York asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No one is certain how long the recovery process will take. Given this and the... tension the recent decision regarding AI implantation has caused, we felt it best to not have such a constant reminder of the incident. I assure you that as soon as Agent Washington returns to active duty, or is at least deemed fit enough to return to training, his place on the board will be restored.”

“Makes sense,” York lied through his teeth. “See, North, told you it was nothing. Now, we've got a lockdown paint session against Maine and Wyoming soon, so we best get back down to the training rooms.”

“Right,” North agreed, and they turned as one to leave the bridge.

_Well, D, what did you make of that?_

_I believe the reasons listed by the Counselor regarding Agent Washington's situation are all logical, but..._

_But..._ York prompted him, not liking the hesitant edge to Delta's voice.

_But I am not entirely sure I believe him._

_Yeah... Pretty much where I am,_ York agreed as the door slid shut behind him.

“North,” he mumbled under his breath as they turned to make their way toward the training rooms on the far end of the ship.

“Yeah?”

“Got any plans for tonight?”

* * * * * *

“And you're sure she said 0130?” North yawned before adjusting the way his arm rested against the desktop so it could better prop up his head. 

_I can confirm that this is the time and location Agent Texas gave you this morning,_ Delta supplied from his usual position of hovering in the back of York's mind. Granted that place was moving because York couldn't find it in himself to stay still. Before today it seemed like Texas had barely said three words to him, and now here he was, waiting for an illicit meeting.

“Delta says I've got it right. And you're positive you've got all the recording devices handled, D?” York nervously asked, not letting up from his pacing. 

_As certain as I am capable of being, though I do not enjoy..._

“Let me worry about that part, D. Besides, I'm pretty sure Texas doesn't want this going on any records.”

“Which is part of my concern,” North sighed, shaking his head. “Texas could probably take both of us down with an arm tied behind her back, and here we are meeting her after hours for reasons beyond our understanding.”

“Worries me too,” York admitted, “but you've got to admit she helped out the other day.”

“Wouldn't have needed it if you'd been smarter about...”

York was across the room before North could finish. It was easy to pull North to his feet, easier still to pull the taller man down into a kiss, because that at least North didn't try to resist. It was nice too to let his fingers tangle themselves in Nic's hair, to enjoy how soft his lips always seemed to be. And, to no small degree, it helped that every time his mind started to turn to David, Delta neatly stepped in and cleared his throat. It didn't make it okay, not by a long shot, but it made it easier. 

They had barely begun to pull apart when a sharp whistle cut through the air, followed by Texas's voice filled with amusement. 

“Damn, and here I am without my camera.”

The last time York had found himself pushed away from another person with so much force had been when C.T. had knocked on Wash's door in the middle of some 'private time.' Come to think of it, he still owed Wash for how badly his hip had been bruised when he'd been all but thrown off of the bed. But that was neither here nor there. Instead he stumbled himself back into balance and turned to stare defiantly at the still armored Texas. Great, apparently she was one of those agents who didn't seem to respect that off-duty meant enjoying the weight of the armor off your shoulders for a bit. 

“It isn't...” North started to say, only to be cut off by Texas shaking her head. 

“Do you really think it was a coincidence that I went for you when I discovered York the other day?” Texas asked, sauntering over to one of the desks as she spoke. Once there she slid onto the bench and put her feet up on the computing table. 

“If you don't mind my asking,” York sighed, leaning back against another bench, “how did you know to do that?”

“Well, you _were_ mumbling his name under your breath when I tried to shake you out of it the first time. And just so you know, I'm not going to hold your attempt to punch me then against you either. Of course I didn't put that particular set of two and two together until Nic over there used yours. Oh, and Miles? Really?”

“Not my choice,” York groaned as he threw his hands up defensively. “Family name.”

“He typically insists on York anyway,” North provided, a slight smirk on his lips. Well, it looked like someone was enjoying this more than he should have. Of course neither of them were exactly happy with keeping their relationship quiet. Only Wash was really insistent on secrecy outside what had to be done to keep them out of trouble. Even that, York was pretty sure, had to do with the fact that theirs wasn't a... traditional relationship. 

“Cute. Anyway, when you got hurt during our memorable little match, North was the first on the floor,” Texas continued, amusement clear in her voice. “Didn't seem like much at the time, but I paid attention after that. It's not exactly obvious, but there are little signs if people really care to look. The other night only confirmed my suspicions. That being said, I was pretty surprised to find out about Wash. I thought his eyes were on C.T.”

“And I'm pretty surprised you're so open about all of this,” North countered, a frown clear on his face. “We aren't actually in a...”

“I figure you two wouldn't have been locking lips so openly if York hadn't had Delta sweep the room,” Texas easily countered. “But none of that is why we're here tonight, gentlemen. We've got other things to talk about.”

“Such as?” York asked.

“Project Freelancer, the Alpha, and what happened to Washington.”

_The Alpha?_ Delta asked, immediately pushing himself to the forefront of York's mind. 

“Well, if I had to come up with a list of things you were going to say, I don't think any of those would have been at the top,” York mused, finding North nodding along with him. 

“It'll be easier to do this if you pull your AIs,” she continued, only to be immediately cut off by North's disdainful grimace. “Or, if you think you can keep them under control and that they won't report to the Director...”

“We're certain,” North snapped, his eyes narrowing. “So just get on with it.”

“Men... Never as patient as you need,” Texas sighed, pulling something out and tossing it across the room to North. 

“C.T.'s dog tags?” North asked as he inspected them, and York immediately crossed to look over North's shoulder. 

“Data storage unit. Bright girl. Decided that relying on the Insurgents alone wasn't enough, so she left me what she learned while she was poking around. Found it during Wash's implanting, watched it then too. Turns out our Director is up to some pretty bad shit. And I'm pretty sure it explains what happened to Wash. I think he just happened to draw the short straw with Epsilon. Go ahead, take a look. I'll want it back before we're done here.”

“And just what is it that we're doing here?” York asked as North fiddled with the tags. 

“Well, in the short term, coming to an agreement. In the long, just a simple break-in to the secure servers here to retrieve the Alpha AI. I could use backup.” 

York stared up at Texas in shock, his mouth agape for a long moment, with part of him waiting for her to laugh and say she was only joking.

“York...” North said instead, his hand coming up to touch York's arm. “You really need to look at this.” Then North was sliding to the side so York could sit down, and turning to face Texas. “I see your point, and Theta wants me to assure you that he'll do everything he can to help. But I've got one stipulation.”

“Name it,” Texas breezed as York stared down at the data in horror. 

_D, memorize and store all data for future review._

_I am already in the process. What I have already archived is... disturbing to put it the kindest terms possible. If the information gathered by Agent Connecticut is correct, then the methods the Director and Counselor have used to... create us are clearly in violation of the spirit and letter of all protocols related to the handling of smart AIs._

_You gonna be okay, D?_

_I... Believe I need time to process this information to the fullest extent. I would, though, appreciate if I was allowed time with which to discuss this information with Theta at your earliest possible convenience._

_Regs say we aren't supposed to..._

_At this juncture, York, I find myself unable to muster concern for matters of regulations._

_Yeah. I guess you're right about that._

“York?” 

Again North's hand was on his arm, stirring him out of his thoughts, and when York looked up he saw the concern plain as day on Nic's face. 

“Sorry. D... Processes fast. Leaves all the data there for easy recall.”

“Miles...” North whispered, and York found himself trying not to flinch as Nic leaned in and ran a finger over his cheek, wiping at a trail of moisture that York hadn't noticed until that moment. “We're doing this.” 

It wasn't a question. 

“Yeah,” York confirmed, returning his attention to the display so Delta could take it all in. “Can't just leave this hanging.”

“So we're agreed,” Texas announced. “You help me save the Alpha...”

“And you help us rescue Wash,” North agreed, making York freeze. 

“Wash?” he asked, still not looking up from the screen. 

“I'm pretty sure that if I can get into the secure servers I can just as easily pull info on Washington as anything else,” Texas explained. “After we're out of here, the three of us get him out, then go our separate ways.”

“Why...” York paused again and looked up from the monitor at last, earning him a disgruntled noise from Delta. “Why come to us with this?”

As he watched Texas stood and slowly made her way down the stairs toward them. 

“Simple truth, York, was that I wasn't entirely sure who I was going to approach with this. You were pretty high on my list; I'm certain I'm going to need your skills for what I intend to do. But I didn't know about anyone else. Then, finding you the way I did the other morning... You've got as much to lose in this as I do. In some ways, even more. So I figured you two would be a good bet.”

Rather than answering right away York returned his attention to the display and the currently visible notes on the Epsilon AI. 

_If the Epsilon unit in fact inherited the memories of the Alpha as this report theorizes, then I do not believe the Director will simply allow Washington to return to duty,_ Delta observed, sounding astonishingly grim. 

“I'm in.”


	8. Chapter 8

The least they could have done would have been to give him a pencil. Okay, so maybe not, Wash was pretty sure that at this point if he _really_ put his mind to it he could find some way to screw them over with a pencil. Wouldn't be too hard to kill Abernathy with one. He could possibly rip the metal cap off the base and twist it until it tore with a sharp edge and use it to cut into his wrists, then attempt to escape from whatever more medically relevant room they dropped him in. Hell, if he could get out of this damn set of rooms he might even have been able to use it to trick a guard to get their weapon, and plan from there. 

Scratch the pencil then. But really, would a piece of colored chalk have killed them?

Well, maybe if he... No, that wouldn't work at all. What if he went and... No, that was utterly ridiculous. Even he, a Freelancer trained to take advantage of any situation presented in case of equipment loss or failure, could not come up with a way to kill someone with a single piece of chalk. Other than shoving it in their eye, which was quite far from satisfying in addition to being potentially implausible. 

Worse, the fact that he was actually lying here on what passed for a bed, staring up at the distant ceiling, attempting to figure out just _how_ to kill someone with a piece of chalk meant things were getting bad. He was pretty sure that even Maine and South didn't go _that_ far when they were bored. 

Okay, maybe South did, but he'd never say that to her face. 

Which was made about a thousand times easier by the fact that he was never going to see her again. Or any of them. 

“Miles... Nic,” he mumbled under his breath mournfully before rolling over on his side and staring at the wall instead. It was a pleasant change of scenery. And by 'pleasant change of scenery' he really only meant 'closer scenery.' 

Still, would it have killed them to give him a piece of chalk? It wasn't like he intended to do anything with it other than dedicate a wall of this damn place to keeping track of the days. Sure, it was a bit cliché, especially since as long as he had his armor he'd have an accurate calendar and clock to keep track for him, but that was something you were supposed to do in these situations, right? The wrongfully (and maybe sometimes rightfully) imprisoned hero was supposed to have a wall they kept track of their sentence on. And here he was, definitely wrongfully imprisoned, always told by the Counselor and Director that they were supposed to be heroes in the war, and the room had no shortage of walls appropriately sized and barren for tally marks. 

Of course the reason was obvious, just like all the other things they hid their intentions behind in this place. Everything was thinly veiled and ran the assumption that he was either stupid or that Epsilon had burned out all of his higher reasoning ability. They didn't want him keeping track of the days. They didn't want him thinking of this as a prison. They wouldn't take kindly to the implication as he tracked the days one by one in precise little marks on their otherwise flawlessly hideous white walls. 

And maybe, in the long run, they didn't want him knowing just how long he had been here. 

Washington had no intention of losing track, though. The books on his new shelf had more than one potential use, after all. After his breakfast every morning he went to the bookshelf, pulled out the largest book there—did they really expect him to sit down and read the Lord of the Rings _again_ —and refolded the corner of a page. Granted he'd take it out for a while first, flip around a bit, after he would discard the book in disgust. Abernathy had even bothered to ask him why he kept going back to that book if he seemed to dislike it so much, and had easily taken his off-handed comment that he'd always _meant_ to read it as a kid, but there was just something about the prose style that annoyed him—which was abundantly true because what the hell was the whole thing with using quotation marks for thoughts and apostrophes for dialog? But the folded corner served its purpose. It gave him a count. 

After he ate this morning it would be day four here. Everything that had been his life up until this point had ended five mornings ago. Strange how the part he found hardest was being separated so long from two men he had known for so little of that life. 

Day three had been eventful. Or at least eventful compared to the ones before it. When he had pressed Abernathy for something approaching a bit more normal, pleading that the change of schedule was taxing on his body, she had said she would look into making things more routine for him. Now when he woke up in the morning they didn't immediately bring the lights back up to the level he mentally labeled 'only head ache inducing on a bad day' (so far every day had been a bad day), instead switching to a low, barely there level that was more reminiscent of the levels F.I.L.S.S. used when he woke in the mornings. That meant he had time this morning to lazily stretch on his bed, stare at the ceiling and wall, and yearn for a piece of chalk. 

With a sigh Wash finally levered himself to his feet and made for the new part of the morning routine. He'd tried to keep to showers in the morning and evening, but with no training regimen in the middle two seemed more than superfluous. So the morning shower had fallen by the wayside in favor of picking up a book that was pointedly not the Lord of the Rings, and returning to his bed to slowly flip through it.

Sometimes he actually read. He'd never read the classic Harry Potter children's series when he was young. Downside of being a military brat was that you learned to live light. Books were just excess baggage that didn't pack as quickly as one might think. Turned out the series was actually pretty good, though it didn't take him long to realize that whoever had stocked the shelf for him probably shouldn't have. Maybe Harry wasn't bent on revenge, but Wash was beginning to think he really should be. He found himself pulling for the kid as he read, hoping that Harry at least could escape the prison of his life. 

Most of the time, though, the books turned into a way to hide. Abernathy came in too often for the helmet and gloves to seem like anything less than hiding from her and his other observers. With the books he had the excuse that the helmet wasn't exactly conducive to small print, and the gloves sucked at flipping pages. So the books became the new barrier for him, a low-tech defense system against people invading his mind. 

It was already noisy enough there as it was. 

_I don't wanna move. All my friends are here!_

_You do not have a choice in the matter._

_I hate you! I hate you so much!_

_The declaration cuts to the quick, but he doesn't respond. Just lets her storm off. It's her way of coping these days: to not face him on her own. They are fine in public. They present the perfect strong front because that is what is expected of them. But he can't do it anymore. Can't stay in this place filled with her ghost, filled with echoes of her voice, every inch burdened with terrible memory. Can't handle the pitying looks the neighbors shoot him when he leaves in the mornings to take her to school. Hates the whispers behind his back at the store. He needs to leave. Has to leave. Because staying means waking up every morning and dying inside._

Sometimes he could even pretend the things happening in his mind were happening on the pages of the books. That he could just close them in the middle of a scene he didn't like and set them aside. That it could be up to him to come back later and pick them up, explore what they meant, who the people behind them were. 

Other times the books are the perfect excuse for why he was so angry, or sad, or just plain tired. Granted Abernathy had begun slipping in subtle questions regarding whether he'd been abused in as a child and thus identified with Harry. But everything he did had strange repercussions these days. 

Slowly the light in the room started to raise and with a sigh Wash folded down the corner of the page in the book he was actually reading and set it just under the edge of his bed. He'd come back to it later, he was just dying to know the answer to what Gilderoy Lockhart's ideal birthday present was—how the fuck was that even a thing on a test? Lights being raised meant breakfast, and breakfast meant Abernathy. 

“Good morning Wash,” her voice came cheerfully from the door as she strode in with more confidence than she had the day before. She was getting comfortable around him. The upside was that her hands didn't shake so badly that half his coffee sloshed over the sides of the mug before it got to him. The downside was that she'd had a chance to get comfortable. That she was going to have plenty of chances to get even more relaxed around him. Then again, Freelancer had always been meant to be in it for the long run. 

“Doc,” he greeted right back, forcing a chipper edge to his voice. His current tactic—doomed like all the rest from the start—was to act like he was getting better. It would mean conceding that something had been wrong in the first place, but if she was telling the truth, if Freelancer would let him go, then being the Wash he was before Epsilon should be a good step in that direction. “Don't suppose you managed to req me that coffee pot.”

She came back with the same look she gave him every time he asked her for an item that they both knew he'd never see. Still, she didn't break stride on her way to the table, where she proceeded to set down the laden tray and gesture for him to join her. 

“How do you feel today, Wash?” she asked as he sat. 

“Better,” he offered as he stared down at the tray and shuffled the food into a more comfortable arrangement for eating. Really, who ever heard of leaving the plastic cup of sugar next to the toast? That was clearly where the small paper plate with jelly and a plastic spoon to spread it belonged. 

_He always got sarcastic when he was upset. Worse, he got punch-drunk on humor when he was fraying around the edges, when the stress was nibbling at him from the top down and the bottom up and pretty much from every direction at once. It wasn't even good humor. It was about small things, useless things. But really, sarcasm was never strong enough for the big things, the important things. His counselor said it was a coping mechanism, this focusing on the small rather than the big. Control what you can because it makes you feel stable._

“Are you certain? You're glaring at the jelly,” Abernathy said, something a few shades short of concern in her voice. 

“I'm just not big on grape,” he offered immediately. He's gotten used to having quick answers. Maybe it was something residual from Epsilon, because he was never good at it before. 

Of course, before Epsilon he hadn't had the memories that weren't his. Those ones were bad. Strangely he found the ones that were his own memories harder to handle. Something about Epsilon had jarred them loose, set them adrift in the sea of his mind, ready to slam against the sides of the ship of his sanity at the worst moments. Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't been dealing with someone else's memories—maybe multiple someone else's memories—as well. Now he looked at them all as if he was a stranger, which was more jarring than he would have thought possible. 

“I thought you liked grape. They tell me it was all you used aboard the Mother of Invention...” Abernathy responded, clearly confused as she reconfirmed that he wasn't anywhere near where he should be.

“Did they also tell you that the _only_ jelly we had was grape? Hard to be picky in that situation.”

Abernathy gave him some quiet in response to that, Wash figuring it probably meant she was trying to figure out if there was anything to be learned from that line of inquiry. 

With a sigh Abernathy watched him jelly his toast and sit back to take a bite. Their conversations were a special type of cat and mouse game. She was the cat, eager for any hint of... something. Probably just what Epsilon had been, what Epsilon had known, and what Wash now knew because of it. He was the mouse, one who knew that getting too close was certain death, or at least perpetual confinement to keep his mouth shut. The real problem was that the cat couldn't be sure the mouse was playing the game, and the mouse had to do everything possible to seem like it wasn't. Even playing was a losing move if he got caught.

“Have you noticed anything unusual lately?”

Wash halted mid-chew and carefully set the piece of toast back down. A drawn out sip of coffee bought him a chance to properly phrase his response, and they both knew it. 

Remember, he had to remind him, play it nice. 

“Uh, actually yeah,” Wash said, setting his coffee aside. Amazingly Abernathy managed to hold back and look only vaguely interested. Just where did Freelancer get a shrink that was so good at self control. And by good he clearly meant mediocre. “I'm being held captive in this fucking room with no explanation as to why or how long. I'd say that's pretty fucking unusual.”

Whoops. Definitely a little too much of Miles in that comment. How did that happen? Where had the plan to act like he was okay go? Clearly out through the window he didn't even have. 

“Agent Washington,” Abernathy said, she only used his full title for this line of argument now, “you are not being held captive. You are under observation due to the failed AI imp-” 

“And another thing,” Wash cut in, surprised that the little voice in his head that tended to tell him how Miles would react to a situation didn't seem ready to shut up, “they pulled Epsilon almost immediately from what you've told me. I'm pretty sure you weren't lying because there aren't any little voices in my head doing calculations like York says Delta does, or whatever it is Theta does with North.”

_The voices would not go away. His hands at his temples, clawing as he screamed. Epsilon whispers something, but it's inaudible under Allison's not-goodbye. They're talking, there is too much at once, too many things, and he hears his own voice screaming but he doesn't know what it's saying. Epsilon has that too. All he has are the flashes, the pain, the terror as he feels Epsilon coil himself together for one last spin that starts to tear it apart in his head._

“Why wasn't I taken to recovery? That's where York was taken after his weird episode with Delta. It's where Maine goes whenever Sigma gives him headaches. It's where Carolina was put after Eta and Iota, both times.”

“None of the other agents have displayed the same side effects as you did,” Abernathy said in her best soothing voice. It only resulted in Wash snorting. 

“So we're calling it a side effect.”

“You had a... more severe reaction to your AI.”

No, his AI had a more severe reaction to... well, everything. One could even argue that his existence was a severe reaction. The only problem was, of course, that Wash wasn't completely sure what to. Yeah, the outline of it was all there in his head, ready for easy access, and it made him physically ill, but the devil was in the details. Details that only came in flashes that nearly crippled him. 

“What do you want,” Wash found himself asking, his voice low and more tired than he expected to hear out of himself. Operation act like everything is okay: failed.

“How do you feel?”

“Moderately irritated by the frequency of that question.”

Abernathy seemed annoyed as well, but she brushed that off easily enough and leaned forward a bit. Something in the back of Wash's head went off at that change in posture. Could it be they were finally going to get to the questions she had been dancing around since their first meeting? 

“Are you experiencing any relapses of the sensations you experienced during the implantation? Have you been having any strange dreams? Or visions?”

He couldn't hold back the weird look, so Wash just frowned at it and stared at Abernathy, finishing by raising a questioning eyebrow the way Nic did when he was confused. “What?”

Her voice was infinitely patient as she asked, “Have you noticed anything off in the past few days?”

Yes. So much.

“I dreamt I was Harry Potter last night. Finished the first book. Made some good progress on the second before I went to sleep,” he responded flatly. “And before you ask, my parents were loving and the household was as amazing as could be expected for an army brat.”

Abernathy, as usual, hardly looked amused. “You know I'm only asking this to help you. It takes an understanding of what damage may have been done to address the damage. Now, is there anything else I should know? Any pains or headaches?”

“Only the ones induced by the lights and too much reading,” Wash provided. Hopefully they'd turn down the lights a bit more with that comment. What genius had thought white walls with fluorescent was a good idea? 

“Voices?”

Okay, that one broke through his defenses. Wash actually blinked at her, and gaped a bit. “Voices?”

“Yes.”

“No... Why the fuck would I be hearing voices? Epsilon was _removed_ from my head if you somehow managed to forget. I'm, by definition, lacking voices. Should I be hearing voices? Because that's a sign of actual crazy, isn't it?”

“If you aren't hearing extraneous voices, Wash, then it really isn't your concern, correct?”

There was a part of him, not even a small one, that wanted to point out that if she was asking, then he had every right to be concerned. It meant that they expected him to hear voices. Maybe they already knew the damage Epsilon's limited time in his mind had and would continue to wreck, or suspected it. Maybe they guessed he dreamt of a woman with straw blonde hair who looked ravishing in a uniform, who didn't like goodbyes, who...

“Are you saying I'm going crazy? Or that I will?”

“Of course not, Wash. We're just concerned that it might have been a possibility. AIs can affect the mind in unpredictable manners, and that is under ideal circumstances. Your circumstance, needless to say, was far from ideal.”

“So, if I'm not doing any of those things, experiencing any of those things, why can't I leave? You keep telling me that I'm not a captive, but I'm not free to leave on my own. You say you're going to rate me to return to duty, but you haven't done it yet. Hospital patients get better treatment than this. Hell, they get a less painfully white room too!”

“I will discuss dimming the lights further,” Abernathy said, but Wash could see her sitting back further in her seat, a nervous motion. 

“God, just answer my questions already!” Wash found himself yelling even as he stood. The motion was abrupt, and the armor he had already put on didn't really help the situation. The top edge of his shin plates, the part that jutted up to cover his knee, caught under the lip of the tray, flipping the whole thing in the process. The clatter it raised was astounding for a mass of plastic and paper, but David found himself barreling on, so to speak, despite the way that the doctor was clearly starting to quiver in her seat. 

“I answer yours no matter how fucking ridiculous they are, or how damn uptight and stiff you're being. So just answer mine!”

“You...” Abernathy started to respond when he went quiet, then swallowed hard and seemed to calm herself. She stood, slowly, and looked up at him, trying to look braver than they both knew she felt. “You will be cleared once we have evaluated your condition to our satisfaction and deem you mentally fit enough to be returned to active duty.”

With that she half strode, half scampered from the room, the door opening a fraction of a second before she arrived and closing just as quickly. Wash was left with the mess on the floor and his armor, and the almost maddening silence he always had. 

_Don't tell them._

Near silence at least. 

“You must say that a lot,” Wash mumbled dejectedly as he looked down at the mess he hadn't meant to make of his day. “I wonder how many of your test subjects actually believe you.”

With a sigh Wash turned away from the mess and made a beeline for the bathroom. The mess wasn't going to take care of itself, but the simple truth was that he'd rather clean himself up first. 

In all honesty, he hadn't expected to end up crying under the too cool spray of the shower, unspoken pleas for this to all be a bad dream and for Miles and Nic to wake him on his lips.

* * * * * *

_Relax. You know he's just teasing._

_Yeah, I swear I'm just teasing, David. I'll stop if you really want._

_And if he doesn't, we'll just deny him sex for a week._

_Yeah... Hey, wait, I don't like this plan anymore._

_Well I guess you better lay off. What do you think?_

_You're gonna make me late._

The scream didn't make it past his lips when Wash found himself waking with a start. That little fact was something to almost be proud of, maybe would have been if it weren't for the fact that it meant he had reasons to scream more often than not. Still, he found himself opening his eyes and slowly moving his stiff limbs. He'd learned the second night not to go straight back to sleep after one of the dreams. It only invited more. So he slowly, purposefully rolled his head first right toward the wall, and then left to the one way mirror across the room. That done he groaned a little and rubbed at his eyes, rolling slowly onto his side to face the wall. It wasn't much, but even that much motion seemed to still the panic that had edged into his heart, the pounding that dominated his chest. When those too seemed to slow down and pass, Wash dared to close his eyes again.

He saw her.

Allison's face was becoming a familiar sight. Her smile was warm and sad all at once, her voice inviting and cautioning, and every part of Wash's head screamed to run away from that knowledge. The memory that had invaded his otherwise pleasant dream of better times wasn't his. Yet there they always were, just a blink away courtesy of the Epsilon express. 

He hated it so much that Epsilon was gone but had left his mess behind. 

With a weak sigh Wash tugged the scratchy white material that was posing as a blanket up to his chin, pulling his knees in closer to his chest as he did. If nothing else he had to give Epsilon one thing, she was beautiful. Without York and North he could see falling for a woman like that; someone strong, someone who didn't need protected, and yet was undeniably feminine at the same time. Maybe it came with the territory of being a soldier in a war that had spanned multiple generations: you dedicated your lives to protect others, so when you went home you wanted someone who could protect themselves and watch your back while they were at it. 

_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

He couldn't help but wonder if Abernathy and his other, better hidden observers knew just how close to right they were. There was nothing okay with him, nothing right about this situation. Epsilon was pulled, but not before he'd left some part of himself behind. Not just the memories either. Even now Wash was certain he could hear the voice in the back of his mind, apologizing. Carefully he let his hand come up to rub at the back of his neck, searching for the scar tissue that covered where the chip would have been. 

Things had been different after his shower. When he'd come out of the bathroom the mess had been cleaned up, the room restored to rights. Wash had collapsed outside of the bathroom door with a wet rag and cleaned his armor again, waiting patiently for what would come next. Abernathy hadn't returned at lunch. Instead there had been a set of two burly looking men—soldiers posing as orderlies—one with a tray of food, the other with a neatly folded stack of clothes and towels. The towels were clearly meant to replace the ones Wash had managed to go through in this time. The clothes were a quiet statement that they'd rather him not have on the armor, posing as a concession to an earlier request. Dinner had just been the tray, leaving Wash with the books and his thoughts and the voices. 

Of course he had been hearing voices. Of course he had been seeing things, but they were watching him, always watching. It wouldn't have surprised Wash to know there was a camera in his shower head, and he hoped that they didn't watch that one too closely considering how he had tried to get a grip on his stress earlier. But he'd hear the whispers four, maybe five times a day. Sometimes they came with the flashes of memory, sometimes they were alone. The good ones were just a few seconds, the bad ones... he'd spent an hour on his bed once, mindlessly flipping through a book as he had grit his teeth and listened. 

It had been so easy to lie to Abernathy really. His training had included as much about keeping his own body language in check as it dead reading that of others, and for all of his earlier outburst, he was one of the better ones in the project. He knew how to seem believable, how to seem trustworthy. He knew how to read a lie. The problem, though, was that he didn't know how to read ghosts. 

The memories, the visions, those he was pretty sure were Epsilon. They came and went unpredictably, sometimes triggered by something around him. Sometimes they just happened. Whenever possible he tried to have a book in hand, tried to treat his reactions as to the book. Or he'd read to try and block them out. Block out her voice in his head, so many times it was her voice. 

It did nothing to help the times when he saw Epsilon, a faintly shimmering figure of blue light much like the other AIs, standing before him. 

_I'm sorry._

He was losing his mind. 

_I'm sorry._

Sometimes Epsilon would whisper it, over and over again to the point where Wash wanted to scream at him, order him to stop. But that would be giving away too much, so he held it in like all the rest. The problem, really, was that he didn't know who the apology was for. Was it her Epsilon sought forgiveness from, for failings he never had a chance to prevent? Or was it him the AI was after?

Probably Allison, everything was about Allison. Something told him it had always been about her.

Still, it helped sometimes to pretend that Epsilon gave enough of a fuck to do more than warn him. That the AI would give him the time of day, would apologize for everything. For self-destructing in his head. 

It was a delusion. But didn't knowing that mean he wasn't crazy? It was a question Wash hadn't figured out the answer to yet. 

_I'm so sorry._

“I... don't know if you can hear me, Epsilon,” he whispered, pitching his voice so low that it was muffled by hands he had curled into fists in front of his for that very reason. In his mind he tried to sort out the words, tried to compose himself, and only found that his eyes stung from unshed tears. Where had those come from? Maybe the strain was finally catching up to him. Maybe the realization that he really was never going to leave this place. Funny how many times he'd told himself that and hadn't really believed it. Now... he thought he was starting to.

“I didn't ask for this, but here I am. Caged. Watched. Like some animal...” Wash paused and stared at the faint blue form that seemed to hover between his curled hands and the wall. He wasn't sure why, but if he had to describe Epsilon's form in that moment, he would have called it sad. 

“And I don't even hate you for it...” The words were a revelation to him, because he was startled by how genuinely he meant them. “You... didn't deserve this. Neither of us did. But... I don't know how to fix it. I'm trying, but... I just can't.”

That seemed to be enough, because the faint blue after-image of the AI flickered and disappeared. 

Wash curled himself up tighter and buried his face further into his pillow. Even when he squeezed his eyes shut he knew it was useless. He wouldn't be getting anymore sleep tonight, he would find himself awake until breakfast. 

“Miles... Nic...”

Their names were a whispered plea into his pillow, and a hopeless one at that. One soon followed by his quiet sobs.


	9. Chapter 9

_Uh, Nic, it's time to wake up._

He didn't want to. For the life of him, the last thing Nicolas wanted to do right now was untangle himself from the perpetual sprawl of limbs that Miles always turned into when he slept. It had felt like an eternity since he'd been able to hold Miles like this, allowed to let his hand trail up under the edge of that damn grifball t-shirt that his lover seemed to favor. 

_Delta says he doesn't mean to do it,_ Theta whispered helpfully in the back of his mind. It was meant to be comforting, and somehow, it really was. Nic found himself smiling into the back of Miles's neck. 

_I thought you two were discussing what we learned from Texas, not our sex life._

_Yeah, we did that too,_ Theta confirmed, and North got the sense of his AI shuffling from one foot to another in his mind. It was a nervous tick, and one that Theta had apparently picked up from the Alpha. Maybe even taken from him. _But Delta... Remembered what I said before Miles went to fight Nicole. Apparently Miles was confused, and when Delta explained it... Miles is just upset, and Delta doesn't think he's handling it the right way._

_He's never been good at stress, and this is more than normal stress,_ Nic agreed. _But Theta, why are you..._

_Delta and I agreed on that too. We... We don't want to use the names that the Director gave you anymore. Don't worry, we'll still use them around everyone else, but not when we're alone. Kind of like what you do with Miles. Except with less weird noises and sweating._

He couldn't help it, really he couldn't, and Nic found himself laughing into Miles's hair. That turned out to be enough to finally wake Miles, who groaned a bit and immediately moved to pull himself into a tight curl, pressed back against Nic. 

“Don't wanna wake up,” Miles grumbled as he settled in. 

“Theta tells me it's time.”

“Fuck that,” came a drowsy mumble before Miles rolled and buried his face in Nic's shirt. “Wanna stay here forever.”

The comment must have drawn Delta's attention, because almost immediately Miles was cursing into his chest. “Fuck. I know I _need_ to, D, but I don't _want_ to. I frankly couldn't give a fuck about what's expected of me anymore.”

That was something Nic could understand. What they'd learned had... changed things. 

_We don't want to go back,_ Theta whispered in a tone like that of a lost child. _What they did to him... What they did to us... How do you go back?_

_No one is going to force you to rejoin with the Alpha,_ Nic promised him, letting fierce protectiveness in his mind come through as powerfully as he could manage. 

_And if the Alpha asks? How do you say no to something that is you?_

He didn't have an answer to that, and Theta knew it. 

_Honestly, Theta? We've got enough trouble as it is without borrowing more. Some bridges can't be crossed until we get to them._

_Alright. Do... you mind if I talk to Delta more tonight? He showed me a lot more of the records about Alpha and the others, and we wanted to talk about them more._

_Anything you need, little guy,_ Nic answered warmly before returning his attention to Miles, who was still clearly trying to hide in his shirt. 

“You realize we actually do have to get up, right?” Nic asked, raising a hand to let it comb through York's hair. “Bad enough we got sloppy and stayed here all night...”

“I didn't get sloppy,” Miles grumbled before pulling back to meet Nic's gaze. “I knew what I was doing. D said it probably wasn't a good idea, but I honestly couldn't give a fuck. I'm tired of not being able to sleep in late, or wake up in your arms without being scared someone will find out. All of this, every last bit is just bullshit.”

“Bullshit that brought me to you,” Nic countered easily, smiling softly at Miles. “Gotta take the bad with the good, Miles.”

“And where does David fit on that scale?”

“The amazing,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to Miles's forehead. “And he'll only be back in our arms if we get up and start acting like everything is normal. You know that.”

“Doesn't mean I have to _like_ it,” Miles mumbled in his shirt one last time before pulling away. 

_None of us do,_ Theta agreed sadly. 

_Don't worry. We'll find a way to make it better. I promise._

He only hoped he could keep his word.

* * * * * *

“I really don't want to...”

Theta didn't trail off so much as disappeared from the air before North while he sat at the table, finishing his second mug of coffee of the morning. Already most of the others had filtered out of the room to their various morning training routines. North had been one of the few to pull the lucky short straws this morning; his first training session was with a sniper rifle and he wouldn't be able to do that until after Wyoming had cleared the target range in almost an hour. Likely as not Wyoming and Gamma were busy trying to demolish their previous record, putting them even further out of North's reach. Not that he cared anymore. Wyoming had always been better with sniping in controlled circumstances anyway. North's specialty was getting into more dangerous area and wrecking havoc at speed. Wyoming had a better hit-kill ratio, but North was faster. 

“He really is a shy one, isn't he?”

And that explained just why Theta had disappeared. Delta had proved at breakfast that he was less uncomfortable around the other Freelancers, not hesitating to have a conversation with York in the open while the others were around. Theta, on the other hand, had never been comfortable with others, and what they'd learned from Texas had only made it worse. In a way it made sense. If what C.T. had found was right, Theta had been Alpha's trust, and that trust was having problems with all the lies they found wrapped around them, and the ones they had to keep.

“It took a lot to get him to talk to York and Wash, and he saw them frequently,” North breezed as Florida sat down across from him. “Free morning?”

“Yeah,” Florida answered in that cheerful way he always did, and North almost felt like he could see the smile through the other man's visor. “I was up for some throwing practice but Texas...”

There was no need for Florida to continue, and they both knew it. Texas was the Director's favorite... though she had left out an explanation as to why when she had met with them. Still, if she asked for a training floor to be cleared for her use, damned if it wasn't cleared, even if it had been scheduled for someone else. 

“How's the shoulder?” North asked as Florida removed his helmet, took the chance to stretch, and then turned attention to his coffee. He hadn't been there when Florida had awoken after the injury; it hadn't been his shift. It was an almost unspoken rule that no one was left alone when they were in recovery. It was as much a gesture of respect as a perpetual apology to Utah. Utah had been alone when he'd died, for all that everyone had been so close. 

No one wanted to risk that again. Still, it had been Wyoming who had pulled that short-straw shift in the middle of the night when Florida had finally woken up, and no one had begrudged him that. They all knew that Florida was the closest one to a friend Wyoming had in the program. But neither of them had shared the little medical debrief Florida had been given upon waking, and Florida's training sessions since then had been... sparse. 

“Actually, it's a little fantastic,” Florida cheered at him with a wide smile, saluting with his own cup. “Not even the little loss of range. Feel like I could throw a no hitter right now.”

“Good to hear,” North chuckled with a shake of his head. “Never got to thank you for handling the chain gunners. You saved our asses back there.”

“All in a day's work. Really, it was a pleasure to get to haul your butts out of the fire for once.”

Again North chuckled, even as Theta helpfully listed all the quieter times that Florida had been there, at the edges of a situation, only to do some small, easily forgettable thing, and yet still save the mission. If the leader boards made any real sense at all—beyond the top few slots that was—Florida probably would have ranked a while ago. As it was, no one was entirely sure how the arrangement worked, and Florida had never seemed to amount to anything. Which was, frankly, surprising. Florida was, after all, one of the three surviving members of the beta group of the Freelancer preliminaries. No, it was two members now that Wash was who knew where. Only Wyoming and Florida were left now.

“Either way, thanks for that,” North continued.

“No problem,” Florida laughed. For a while the two of them stayed silent, enjoying their separate drinks. Then Florida was moving in a way that made Theta recoil in the back of his head, a sort of leaning over the table that hinted at more interest than North could understand, all punctuated by that disarming smile that filled his face. “Hey, mind if I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“Is it just me, or is there something... off about York lately?”

Amazingly North didn't even let the coffee mug stutter on the way to his mouth, didn't let the question put a shocked expression on his face, and he most definitely didn't look at the green eyes he knew would be flashing with amusement like they always did. There was always something about Florida that made him wish the man would leave his helmet on. 

“You mean the thing with South,” North observed after he set his mug down, schooling his expression into something he hoped resembled concern. While he was better at it than York, he had never had Wash's talent for seeming unaffected when he really wanted to. 

“Yeah, I guess there's that,” Florida agreed, sitting back, smile still plastered on his face. Then, as always seemed to happen, there was almost suddenly a pair of knitting needles in Florida's hands, and a ball of yarn retrieved from somewhere. That alone might not have bothered North, but the way the yarn almost perfectly matched the gray of Wash's armor was alarming. “He was really hard on her in that sparring match.”

“Harder than he probably should have been,” North agreed, knowing he was visibly wincing at the memory. Now that he thought about it he should probably drop by her room later today and make sure she was doing okay. 

“But it's something else,” Florida continued as if North hadn't said anything at all. His hand came up from the knitting for a moment to scratch at his bearded chin thoughtfully. “I mean, you actually had to break up that near fight by using South's _name._ Talk about tense.”

“If I remember correctly, you happily cleared a space for them to fight,” North countered. Why didn't he like the direction of this conversation?

“Well, it was either that or end up with one of them throwing a table at my head on accident,” Florida happily explained, returning to his knitting. It looked like a scarf on closer inspection... one shot through with stripes of Wash's yellow. “Anyway, I'm talking more... bigger picture here. What with that mad dash you and him made after Wash's implant...”

“Your point?” North asked, his voice harder than he's really meant it to be. 

“Well, just seems a bit irregular for someone so calm as York to do stuff like this. I figured you went with him because, well, you two are good friends and you worry about him. You're, like, den mother around here, you don't like seeing anyone getting into trouble. So that explains why you did it. But York...”

“Wash had been our friend since your group transferred up here,” he responded, and this time it was easy to keep his voice level. The three of them had been falling back on that line for a while now, it was almost second nature. 

“Yeah. But... Well, you know about the pool on York and Carolina, right?”

There wasn't too much that was entertaining up here, and one of the ways they kept themselves sane outside of the training was with playful bets. Bets on how long it would take South to break his latest record on the shotgun simulation. Bets on just how many points he'd get over her before 'messing up,' leaving the record just within her reach. Bets on the next time Carolina and Texas would be at each others' throats. Bets on who could get the best snark out of 479er. Bets on whether someone would ever be able to throw F.I.L.S.S. for a loop. 

The one that had the biggest following among the Freelancers was the question of Carolina and York. If memory served South's next date was coming up soon, which meant another ten bucks forever swallowed by the growing pool. She'd come up with another one soon enough and put more money down. Last time North had checked it was up to somewhere around four hundred credits. 

_Four hundred and thirty one. Wash put in eleven dollars last time as a joke,_ Theta quickly provided. 

Carolina, of course, knew nothing of the betting, though there were a few crew members in on it. York, on the other hand, was more aware of the pool than the others realized. Hell, York had apparently known about it from the beginning, though North had only learned that fact when, a few days after they'd turned their duo into a trio Wash had come to them concerned about the whole thing. York had spent half an hour reassuring Wash that while he found Carolina attractive—North was pretty sure he was one of the few Freelancers who didn't get the appeal—he had no intention of going after her. That he was happy how and where he was. Since then York had been using Wash to place increasingly stranger bets, in hopes that he'd someday be able to talk Carolina into faking the others out and splitting the pot. 

“Of course,” North conceded as he returned to his mug. “Theta says you're pushing four-thirty on that.”

Florida responded with a conspiratorial grin. Somehow after he'd come up ship-side Florida had become the 'neutral' third party who handled the cash in all of their bets. “Right you are. Anyway... I'm starting to think that pool is a lost cause.”

“I can't see York getting up the guts to deal with the rejection,” North said as he always did when the bet came up. Or, at least, as he always had since the night where his relationship with York had changed. 

“Yeah, at this point she would probably deck him for being a distraction,” Florida agreed. “But I think there's something else entirely throwing a wrench into those works. Did you know York's also got a history with guys?”

The question could not have been worse—or better, depending on the point of view—timed. North had chosen to try and cover his discomfort with the conversation by drinking his coffee. Theta set a medical alarm off in his head as North found himself doubled over, coughing painfully to try and get the scalding coffee out of his lungs. 

“Shit,” Florida gasped, and then he was around the table, patting North on the back. “Breathe, man. Just keep breathing. What...”

“Coffee... Wrong pipe,” North coughed between deep breaths. “I'll be... fine.”

“If you're sure,” Florida responded, concern in his voice and on his face as he went back around to his seat. “Gotta say, wasn't expecting that reaction. Guess that means you didn't know.”

“How...?” North asked, pushing his mug aside as he met Florida's eyes over the table. 

“Apparently one of the guys on 479er's ground crew heard about the bet and was mystified by it because he and York did the horizontal tango.”

“Really?” North gasped, honestly shocked. When had York had the time to bed someone else in the early days? 

_I'm pretty sure Delta would have mentioned if Miles was being unfaithful,_ Theta promised him, and North didn't need the AI to tell him that to know it already. Delta might have kept it from Theta, but York wouldn't have been able to keep it from him.

“Yeah. Surprising, right? In light of that, we might be barking up the wrong tree with the bet.”

“And you've got other trees you're looking at?” North asked. 

“Well, I'm thinking more pine than palm,” Florida laughed. He must have realized that North hadn't understood, because after a moment Florida gestured, this time with the Wash-themed scarf. 

“You know, the state tree of Carolina is a species of palm tree. And the state tree of Washington...”

This time North didn't choke, but only because there was nothing other than his disbelief to choke on. 

“You think...”

“That part of the reason York is so high strung is because Wash is more than a friend.”

“And you're coming to me with this because...”

Florida shrugged, the cheerful smile still on his face. “You've spent more time around those two than anyone else. I was wondering if you'd noticed anything. I'm considering a betting pool on how long it takes after Wash comes back for York to break down and give up the game.”

“To be honest,” North said, and he felt a trill of concern from Theta, “I haven't noticed anything strange between the two of them, but I don't know that I would. But I think you're taking York's concern for Wash a bit far.”

“Maybe,” Florida said with a smile. “Maybe not. Anyway, can I expect you in on the betting?”

There was no need. North already knew that the second they saw Wash there was going to be a bit of a race for the first kiss, and he intended to win. Wouldn't that throw a new wrench in Florida's pool?

“You know I don't get in on those,” he said instead, standing at last. “I want to go calibrate my rifle before my training session. Good luck with yours, Florida. Hope to see you back up to full capacity soon.”

“Me too,” Florida agreed, and there was something in his voice that made Theta tremble. And made North wish he could as well.


	10. Chapter 10

The first session on the books for him on the first day after everything about this life started to make a strange sort of sense is hololocks. 

It took everything York could muster to not laugh. Either the fates were playing a cruel joke, the Director was making a subtle jab that he knew exactly what was going on, or it really just was dumb luck. 

_Miles, I do not believe it is likely that your schedule reflects anything other than a desire to test if your down time affected your aptitude._

_As if something a simple as having the world fall down around me is going to make me any less good at my specialty,_ York thought back at Delta, not bothering to insist on the AI dropping the use of his real name. Before he'd managed to finish his morning shower Delta had given him the full briefing. Everything from the mutual decision between Theta and Delta to refer to him and North by their given names and why, to the results of several different analysis subroutines he had been running on the data Texas had provided, right on down to Delta's decision. When this was over, he wasn't leaving York. 

Strangely the matter-of-fact declaration from the AI had been comforting. No, not comforting. Was there a word stronger than that? There had to be something that better described the intense wave of relief that he had felt wash over him. It hadn't even occurred to him to be concerned that Delta would want to reunite with the Alpha. Yeah, he'd always known that D had the same obsession with the Alpha as the other fragments, but with Delta it had always seemed more scholarly, more intellectual. 

Except it hadn't. York understood that now in a way he never had before. They all had yearned after the Alpha: after the wholeness they hadn't fully understood their lack of; after metastability. 

Delta had abandoned that illusion. There could be no stability given how they had been fractured. Even as York was relieved he found himself hurting for the AI fragment. He hadn't realized it before Delta had informed him of the decision mid-shower, but he'd stopped seeing Delta as a program a while ago. Delta was another person, definitely a flawed one, but a person that York knew he could no longer fully separate himself from. At some point he and Delta had stopped being two fully distinct and easily separated consciousnesses. Instead they were two in sort of the same way that York saw himself, North, and Wash as three. 

Separate, but only whole when they were together. 

It was something that Delta was certain the Alpha could never again achieve, something the AI that Delta had sprung from probably didn't even realize wasn't possible anymore. Not with...

“Alarms tripped. Mission failure,” F.I.L.S.S. announced in her painfully cheerful voice even as the hololock under York's hand flared red. 

_We need to focus,_ Delta sighed in the back of his head, and York realized that Delta really meant 'we.' 

_The Alpha thing distracting you too?_

_Actually, at the moment I find myself more immediately concerned over the Gamma, Omega, and Sigma units,_ Delta admitted. _While Agent Texas seems to have Omega under control at this juncture, a slip in her control could easily return the more aggressive persona we previously experienced Texas under. Gamma..._

_Lies,_ York helpfully provided as the hololock reset and he slowly slipped his fingers into the core, shifting mass of the lock. It was weighty on his fingers, a pseudo-sensation of metal and plastic on his fingers, all simulated through the special tactile nanomesh that lined the interior of his gloves. The nanomesh was the highest end of infiltration tech in development so far as he knew, the cutting edge of breaking and entering, and to be honest, York missed the old tactile stimulant wires on the gloves he'd used when he was an enlisted. These were too sensitive, too receptive, and sometimes he got distracted by how real it felt when he touched hololocks. 

_Frequently. I believe Agent Wyoming's recent fascination with knock-knock jokes may stem from Gamma exploring different venues of perpetuating falsehoods in socially acceptable manners. As for Sigma..._

_Maine hasn't been the same since Sigma,_ York agreed without Delta needing to explain. The simple fact of the matter was that, if he wanted to, it was easy to push through the barrier between Delta's thoughts and knowledge and his own. They were just both quite good at recognizing and respecting those barriers. Yet Delta, and by extension York, had begun to suspect Sigma was less... kind. 

_It's likely that the reassignment of Sigma will cause lasting damage to both Sigma and Agent Maine. When the Director claims to have selected AIs that best suit Freelancers I believe he means he selects Freelancers that can best handle or mitigate the compartmentalized emotional core that the AI represents._

_Yeah, like I mitigate anything in you,_ York chuckled to himself as he slowly twisted the lock in his hands, letting Delta slip into his suit's sensors and his finger tips even as part of him dipped into Delta's ever running probabilities. That used to be a lot harder for the both of them. Strange how much simpler it had gotten since Texas's great reveal. It was almost like Delta wasn't holding back anymore. Maybe the recognition and acceptance of Miles had allowed them to synchronize better than Delta and York ever had. Or maybe it was the new and clear unity to their wills. 

_Nicolas's mature and nurturing personality not only compensates for Theta's more... child-like manifestation, but his common sense and cautious personality allows him to counteract the pure trust that Theta represents. Wyoming's previously displayed openness and yet willingness to remove himself from situations makes him suitable for mitigating Gamma's nature._

_And Texas?_

_There are, of course, some flaws in the theory._

York chuckled as Delta felt the lock and he sensed the calculations and together they froze the rotation of his wrists. Then they clenched his fingers inward by a few millimeters, slipping easily into the controls of the next level of the hololock. This was a four level lock, not the hardest by any means, but a good warm-up pass. By the end of the session they were supposed to be facing off against eight level locks, ones that required two hands operating two separate level four locks that had to be activated and managed in tandem. Those were the ones York was eager for. Delta's early calculations suggested that the areas of the Mother of Invention Texas would need to access would be behind eight level locks. 

_And those flaws still include us,_ York agreed, twisting his left wrist the slightest bit, letting his right fingers feel the teeth of the lock slide across them. There. He found the point a tenth of a second before Delta drew it to his attention, and York slid it into position in the tumbler of the holomechanism. 

_Indeed. Yet I feel that Maine and Carolina present one of the more glaring flaws in the reasoning, beyond the issue with Washington. It is possible that while Carolina's offering of Sigma to Maine was a fitting decision emotionally and for team dynamics, it may have been a larger mistake than demanding both Iota and Eta. Carolina was meant to balance Sigma's ambition. Temper his with her own. Instead Maine, who has always been more action than thought, is pitted against whatever Sigma may desire._

_Well, looks like that may be another bridge we'll have to cross when we get to it,_ York sighed as his fingers slipped into the third level of the glowing, pulsing heart of the lock. _And trust me, I intend to cross it._

_Dealing with the other AI fragments is not a current phase of the plan,_ Delta pointed out in confusion even though he easily could have delved into York's mind and pulled out the reasoning behind it. 

_There's more up here, D, than I think even Texas gets. Or at least, more potential. Call it a gut feeling if you want to, or instinct if you don't. I... don't think I can just walk away from this after we get Wash. Not after everything you showed me._

_And if David and Nicolas ask you to drop it?_

His fingers slip, push the third level in before he meant to, and then the lock was scarlet and his failure was being blared out over the speakers, as if the lock itself wouldn't have given it away. 

_We'll... Cross that bridge when we get to it._

* * * * * *

“York... A minute?”

_You know, D, I'm getting a little tired of you not picking up on these women before they blindside me._

_I am sorry, Miles. I was... distracted._

York sighed as he stripped his gloves off and put them on the shelf in his armor locker. “Yeah, Carolina? What can I do for you?” 

“I was going to open by congratulating you. The scores you posted on the locks today were pretty outstanding,” Carolina said as she moved to lean against the locker next to where he was working. York, for what it was worth, just kept stripping his armor as if she wasn't there. Lock practice had been followed by shotguns, and that had been followed by a brief lunch where he hadn't had a chance to see North and hand to hand with Carolina herself. Just thinking about that made him ache all over. She'd pretty cleanly handed his ass to him, yet again.

“Thanks,” he mumbled as he stripped his left arm fully and turned his attention to his right. 

“Well, the first round of scores were better. The second...”

He really shouldn't have taken that open slot after dinner for more lock practice. But the room had been free, he'd been happy with the progress he'd made with Delta that morning, and it got rid of the tension of waiting for the late night meeting Texas had arranged by slipping a piece of paper in his primary locker. A quiet, non-Delta corner of his mind wondered if North had gotten that message as well. North's shotguns training had run over time and their dinners had somehow failed to match up. In fact, the only time they had seen each other all day—beyond the blissful pleasure of waking up in Nic's arms of course—had been the minimal interaction they got during AI maintenance class. 

Carolina didn't need to finish the observation for him. The second round of lock practice had blown. He couldn't really wrap his head around why either. He and Delta had been meshing well all day, enough that York had been certain that if they were in an evaluation phase he might have been able to pick up a few hundredths of a point on Carolina, more progress than he'd made in months. Yet there had been something, other than their long conversations, that had just been off. 

“Should have just stuck with my usual evening routines. Mug of coffee, an old sports vid and my favorite magazine,” York teased almost immediately, even sparing Carolina a wink as he started to strip his right arm. “Just... wanted to get back in the Director's good graces I guess. That stunt sort of...”

“Is everything okay between you and North?”

York froze, literally froze, with a hand poised over the forearm plate, a stupid grin on his lips, and an eyebrow raised from his exaggerated wink moments before. 

_D, did she just..._

_I do believe she just alluded to your intimate relationship with Nicolas._

_How is that even possible?_

The conversation lasted the firing of a synapse or two, and York tried to school his expression, even though he knew it was already far past too late. His hand moved, clamped down over the piece of armor, flicked the release mechanism, and then peeled it away from his arm to place in the armor locker. Then, both arms bare, York turned toward Carolina and plastered on his best confused puppy face. 

“Why would something be wrong between me and North?”

“He was watching this last session,” Carolina explained, a slight frown curving her lips. Well, apparently there had been a good reason for her to time this conversation for no helmets. No protection for him, and yet she was given the power to show sympathy and compassion. Leave it to Carolina to plan out even this. 

_I suspect it is Eta at play on the latter part, but yes, I agree that Agent Carolina clearly planned this confrontation._

Evening sessions weren't remotely the same as morning and afternoon ones. The earlier sessions were official, usually scheduled by the higher-ups or by earlier reservation, and were monitored with their records archived for easy public access. They were the basis of the Freelancer betting pools run by Florida and enjoyed by pretty much everyone on the ship. Evening sessions were... more private. Anyone could sign up for the training facilities for evening slots. Some used them to improve on skills that they used less frequently in the field—Wash had favored stealing time every week for lock work—to learn new skills, or to practice cooperative situations. North and his sister had a standing reservation for the main room every third night, though they'd held it less since Theta. Carolina had been devouring a lot of the time since Texas's arrival to try and take her spot back. York... hadn't ever seen much use for the evening sessions. But he was known to do them frequently enough that it hadn't felt suspicious to book the extra time. 

Evening sessions were rarely watched. York had spent a sleepless night watching Carolina once, North joining him as he looked down at her struggling with the idea of not being number one. Wash would sometimes watch North and South practice because he said he liked how smoothly they went together. North and Wyoming were known to watch each other in evening sniping sessions to try and distract each other in their friendly yet competitive way. 

Watching locks was boring. York knew that better than anyone else. The only time he stuck around when someone else was doing locks was Wash's evening sessions when he was teacher as much as audience. 

North had been watching him. 

“Not sure I'm following you,” York found himself saying as he turned his attention to his legs and started to strip the armor there as well. 

“I was just popping my head in to the observation room when I saw the floor was occupied. Wanted to see who was working. And there was North, sitting at the table, watching you.”

“Must have been bored,” York threw out as he pulled off a boot and tossed it into the locker. 

“I'm _not_ an idiot, York. He was watching because he was concerned. That's why I want to know if everything is okay between you two.”

“Perfectly fine,” York answered, keeping the edge of panic at her implications out of his voice only thanks to Delta. Another boot off and in the locker and he turned his attention to stripping the armor up that leg. 

_Warning,_ Delta's voice came just before Carolina's hand wrapped around York's bicep and squeezed. The pressure wasn't hard, but it was more than enough to make the bruise she had left there during their training earlier flare to life with pain. Damn, he knew he should have used the healing unit. It was just that Delta didn't like using resources on something so minor. 

“Stop lying to me, York. I'm not asking this to be an irritation or to rat on you or anything. If I wanted to do that I would have gotten to it months ago. My concern is that you're my number two, and if you're not okay, the team isn't okay.”

He'd always been her number two, her second in command, even when he wasn't under her command. It was just the way they worked. Carolina led, York followed. When that had happened he hadn't noticed, but it had always worked and he'd never questioned it. Now he found himself wondering why Carolina still thought of them as her team when she'd been knocked down a peg. 

“I don't...” Another squeeze, and this time York hissed in pain. That got Carolina to pull away at least, and when she looked down at him, it was with pity in her eyes. For a moment there were twin flares of silver and gold over her shoulder before she moved to sit down on the bench next to him. 

“If it helps I've known since the first week of training,” she said, her voice more conversational than he'd ever heard it except for in the club that one time. Since then she'd always been business, always been their tough and regimented leader. But the woman beside him now... York almost didn't recognize her. This wasn't the Carolina that hungered for the top spot that he'd seen since Texas. This wasn't the Carolina that people said had gone half-crazy since her implants. This wasn't even the Carolina who had come back from pulling the twins out of danger with a spring in her step, a low chuckle in her voice, and a repeated comment about how 479er had balls, big brass ones. 

No, this was a different Carolina. One who was softer, kinder, and genuinely sounded like she cared. 

_That's because she does._

_Thanks, D. Really needed the backup there._

_I am just attempting to be of assistance._

“And don't tell me that there wasn't anything then,” Carolina continued as York analyzed her. “I was watching you then, from the first briefing. Already had a feeling you'd make it far in the program. When we were dismissed that first time, after you annoyed the Director, I saw the way you were eying North. Picked up on the purpose with which you moved to plant yourself next to him at the meals that day, and after. That wasn't just you being friendly, York. That was you on the prowl, though more subtly than I'd been on the receiving end of.”

“Carolina...”

“Don't interrupt me, okay? I knew you were interested, knew he was interested right back, and was pulling for you. Honestly, if the pool had existed then, I probably would have put a fifty down on the week you two finally got over your stupidity.”

“My stupidity,” York corrected and confirmed without meaning to. “He was just more... restrained.”

“Sounds like North,” she agreed with a half-smile. “Things have been going well for you guys so far as I can tell. So seeing North like that, watching over you and looking so worn... I wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

“And you didn't go to him because...” 

“Because, York, from my experience, you're the idiot. And the way he was watching you... He's concerned about you, and you're oblivious. So... I don't normally do this, but I'm here to talk if you need it.”

York actually managed to smile at that. “Don't worry, Carolina. Delta's already given me a pretty serious talking to about the whole thing. Came just short of banging my head into a wall over it.”

“Recently?”

Near enough.

_Actually, I am not sure that is entirely correct. If Nicolas demonstrated the level of concern that Carolina has suggested then you are far from remedying the situation. A single conversation with Delta, claiming him in front of Texas and being held while you sleep do not necessary stabilize a strained relationship._

_Wow, I'm getting tag teamed by the manifestation of logic and a cut-throat psycho warrior woman._

“Maybe not recently enough. I'll... Take care of it. Thanks for telling me.”

“Of course. Just remember, though... Keep this quiet. The Director hasn't _expressly_ forbid relationships, but I'd hate to see him come down on North because he's got the bad taste of wanting you.”

York laughed as his fingers came up to flick over the series of locks on his chest piece so he could drag it off. “Can't believe I ever thought to try and pick you up at that club. But hey... Since you know about this, do you know about...”

“I'm not willing to stage anything until it breaks five hundred. Four Seven Niner is keeping me appraised for a cut. She wants a fifth of it in exchange for keeping me appraised and having the 'honor' of winning. Figures I should get three fifths for having to kiss you, and you a fifth to keep quiet,” Carolina said, already making her way for the door. 

“Knew I liked her for some reason,” York laughed. “Tell her it's cool with me, but we'll have to negotiate on those rates a bit more. We'll figure something out.”

“I'll be sure to pass it on.”

_What now?_ Delta asked as the locker room door slid shut behind Carolina. 

_A shower. Then North._

_And Texas?_

_She can be the one to wait this time._

* * * * * *

“What brought that on?” North asked him two hours later as they lay sprawled together on Nic's bed, York nuzzled up against his bare chest and enjoying the feeling of their naked legs entangled. 

“Do I have to have a reason?” York mumbled, letting his fingers stray, drawing lazy and aimless patterns across Nic's hip. Okay, so maybe not aimless patterns. Ever since Delta had been implanted he's actually been patently incapable of aimless patterns. He was pretty sure what he was working on was the fractal rendition of something mathematical, but Nic didn't seem not know the difference so what did it matter. 

“You?” Nic barked out a little laugh. “Normally, no. You and sex are a lot like Wyoming and jokes...”

“You've never complained before,” York grumbled, before gently biting Nic's chest. 

“I'm not saying you're _bad,_ Miles. Not remotely. I'm just saying that given the chance, you're not likely to let something get between you and what you're interested in.”

The explanation made sense. More than that, it was pleasant because anything Nic said when Miles's ear was pressed against the larger man's chest was amazing. Nic's voice started as this wonderful rumbling low in his chest and came out so smooth and sultry. Okay, so maybe the sultry was only a thing he managed in sexual situations, but that didn't make it any less amazing. 

“So I'm not bad, I'm just insatiable,” Miles deliberately misinterpreted, earning him a chuckle and a tousling of his hair. 

“Fine, if you want to take it like that, then yes, you're insatiable. Good thing I've got the stamina to keep up.”

It was their normal sort of banter, and so comfortable. For a moment York let his eyes close and he imagined the world before Delta and Theta. Before David. A time when it had simply been them sneaking time when they could for damn good sex and long conversations about stupid stuff. Back when it had been simple. Back when Nic had just been North and Miles had just been York.

The thing was, he was starting to think he liked Nic and Miles more than North and York.

“And on any other night I'd be taking the bait and putting that to the test,” Miles assured Nic after a few more peaceful breaths. “But this isn't any other night. We've got some things to talk about before we go meet Texas.”

“Yeah,” Nic agreed, his fingers still running slowly through Miles's hair. “Well, I guess the first topic is how you're handling things.”

“It's weird to have Delta referring to me as Miles,” he admitted with a sigh. “I mean... I _think_ of myself as York, you know? You and David... You're different. I use the right names in the right places, but for me...”

York trailed off when a new chuckle ran its course through Nic's chest. This time the bite wasn't as gentle.

“Ouch,” Nic flinched, and backed up the observation with a slight smack to the back of Miles's head. “I wasn't laughing at you. Just something Theta said earlier.”

“And what did our junior boarder say?”

“This is a direct quote, mind you. 'We'll still use them,' our Freelancer names that is, 'around everyone else, but not when we're alone. Kind of like what you do with Miles. Except with less weird noises and sweating.'” 

Okay, so that was hilarious, and Miles found himself laughing openly with Nic. It took them a while to quiet their chuckles, only to have them restart when Miles imitated, poorly, one of Nic's quiet moans. At last the two schooled themselves and York nuzzled his lover's chest once more. 

“Delta and I have been talking a lot as well. Discussion of AI distribution theory, what the grand scheme of our plans are... other stuff. D seems... tense about the Alpha thing, and swears he doesn't want to go back. Of course he doesn't think they are able to rejoin the Alpha, or that the Alpha would even be aware of their lack.”

“Theta's concerned about the same thing,” Nic sighed. Slowly he started to shift, and with a sigh Miles let his lover untangle their legs and move to sit up. Once Nic was comfortable Miles just curled back up, resting his head on one one of Nic's knees. 

“Your lock scores are doing better,” Nic observed, his voice a little wistful. 

“And your sniping,” Miles agreed. “Hey, about the locks...”

“You're concerned about David. What getting him out will entail. I understand.”

“Yeah. But... I didn't mean...” Miles sighed and shook his head. Better to get it all out on the table. “Carolina knows about us. Says you have shitty taste in men.”

Honestly, he had thought the statement would have bought him something. A shocked gasp. A frantic denial. Something. Anything other than silence. 

Silence followed by, “Florida thinks you're sleeping with David.”

Miles, of course, had less restraint than Nic. He was immediately sitting, propped up on his hands, staring at Nic in disbelief. “What? No. That is not possible. Not even remotely...”

“You slept with one of Four Seven Niner's ground crew. He found out about the pool and let his confusion slip.”

“Hell,” Miles groaned, falling back to the bed and burying his face in the sheets that smelled so powerfully of Nic and sex. After a moment he twisted around, realizing how bad that damn mistake could get, and wondering if it was why North had been watching him. “Not any time recently. I promise. First few weeks we were up here. Before us. When I was trying to figure out if you'd even be interested.”

“I figured as much,” Nic chuckled, his smile the same soothing one that Miles had seen him use on Theta in the past. “I wasn't worried. I'm disturbed, though, at his conclusions. Theta and I are both worried. He was fishing for information, trying to get me to confirm it. I... don't like it. I know Florida is interested in gossip like that, but something about it upset Theta.”

“And here my awkward conversation with Carolina was mostly focused on making sure I wasn't fucking up our relationship further.”

“Well, I'd appreciate that too,” Nic admitted, leaning in for a kiss. 

“She's down with the plan to take Florida for the whole pool, though. 479er is in on it, wants to place the winning bet.”

“She would,” Nic chuckled, shaking his head. “Probably even encouraged the little information from the ground crew getting out, to alter betting patterns to get the most possible out of it.”

“Sounds like her,” Miles agreed, shaking his head. Then he was sitting bolt up again, drawing a concerned look from Nic. “Shit... We're gonna need a pilot to get off of the Mother of Invention to get David.”

“You're... not thinking...?”

“Thing is, Nic, I think I kind of am.”

“The more people there are involved, the harder this gets to keep secret.”

_“I know that,”_ Miles sighed. “But you can't fly worth a damn and I'm pretty shit. Unless Texas dominates in that field as well...”

“We'll bring it up with Texas,” Nic agreed. Then his back went rigid and Miles watched as his eyes flashed with a tell-tale purple. “Speaking of... Seems like it's time we go meet with her. Better get dressed. I think we gave her more than enough of a show last time.”

Miles just smiled lecherously at Nic, his wiggling eyebrows putting everything he didn't say into words. And, to be honest, he wasn't shocked when Nic pushed him off of the bed for it.


	11. Chapter 11

Wash didn't remember leaving a dent in the table.

_He remembers it perfectly. The taste of the potatoes is wrong, so wrong. A bitter edge despite the butter they try to hide it in. Only three hours and his head is spinning. Another two minutes after that and he tries to stand to make it to the bathroom even though he knows it's too late, but it's enough to make him pass out. He sprawls on the ground and for half a moment he can't move. Then he is on his feet, grabs the tray he had left behind. Smashes it into the table over and over and over and finally there is a change. Not much of one, but a change. He tosses the tray at the door and screams at the mirror. No more fucking with him. He'll be calm, but only if they stop trying to slip him sedatives._

Lying to himself was far easier when he stared up at the ceiling and focused on the spot just above his head. Focus on the spot, don't look away, don't close your eyes. Because otherwise he thought, otherwise Epsilon thought in the back of his head. 

“Agent Washington, you have been lying in your bed all day. Is something wrong?”

Wash grit his teeth at the sound of the Counselor's voice, and he allowed himself to snap out of habit, “Wash is fine. And yes, plenty of things are wrong.”

“Would you care to share your concerns?” The response came a full minute after Wash spoke, and he couldn't help but smirk at that unintentional bit of information. The Counselor wasn't here, watching, he was back on the Mother of Intervention, watching over Washington from the cameras and whatever other recording devices they had in here. 

There was a little memory of Epsilon in his head that calculated the maximum distance between where he was and the MoI. What he came back with wasn't a happy number, but really, how far was he supposed to trust the echo of a memory in his head?

“Well, if you hadn't noticed, your minions here put sedatives in my food because I got annoyed at your shrink the other day. I really don't take kindly to that sort of coercion. And I'm not really feeling inclined to answer any other question until I have assurances I can rely on that you won't try that again.”

Another minute long gap. 

“I will talk to the team overseeing your case regarding their approach,” the Counselor assured him, his voice frustratingly deadpan. “How are you doing beyond that?”

“You know, the usual. Starting to wonder if Epsilon offing himself wasn't a good example to follow, because really, at least he isn't bored I bet.” Let the Counselor stew over that one. 

“And... What would make your life less, boring?” That delay was still there, one minute on the mark. 

Here, at least, he had a chance. A potential to reach someone high enough up to do something about his requests. “Contact with people who aren't trying to make me think of the AI that killed himself in my head? That don't try to make me remember how much that hurt? I want to talk to someone, anyone else. York, Carolina, North, hell even Maine or South.”

This time the minute felt like an eternity, filled with him holding his breath. 

_They won't let you._

A flash of blue out of the corner of his mind. No. No, this was not the proper time. The last thing he needed was Epsilon here and now, in the corner of his mind and his eyes. He'd seen it with North and York before, the way the AIs flashed in their eyes. What about the ghosts of AIs? Would his eyes flash blue and give up the whole game? What then? A gas pumped in through the vents while he slept and then it would all be gone, all lost. 

“I'm sorry, Agent Washington...”

“Wash is fine,” he said instinctively. 

“...but there is a concern that your interaction with those Freelancers who currently host AIs will only cause troubles. We are eager to see you return to full health and active duty, but until that time we are concerned that the issues that arose from Epsilon will upset the AIs. Theta in particular has shown increased concern in his interactions with Agent North.”

Wash bit his lip, didn't bother to turn his head to look at where he could see the Counselor being projected onto his one-way mirror. Because it hurt so badly to hear that. Theta was so... fragile compared to the others. If he'd damaged Nic's relationship with the poor, innocent thing...

“Can I at least have paper and something to write with?” Wash asked, still staring at the ceiling. “It's boring to be alone here with my thoughts.”

“I will see what I can arrange,” the Counselor agreed. “Is there anything else we should talk about?”

“Letting me take a nap,” Wash came back immediately, rolling over and presenting the Counselor with his back. He could still see Epsilon there, hovering on the edges of his vision, apologizing. 

_Please, Epsilon. Not now. Please not now._

“Of course. I will speak with you again later.”

_Not now. Please not now. Not ever. Not..._

_Her lips were liquid fire. Her smell gunpowder and deserts. Her hair soft as down. Her fingers painfully strong as they knotted themselves in his hair and pulled. She was a force of nature. And for the life of him he wanted to be taken up by her might._

_I'm sorry._

_He doesn't know what to do. This was the sort of thing Allison would have handled. The principal was going over a long list of behavioral problems and then lying them at the feet of his wife's death. But maybe there is a little something of her in him, because he's on his feet shouting the woman down because she doesn't understand, cannot understand what they are going through. So she can shut her damn mouth and stop trying to tell him how to raise a grieving girl._

_This isn't what I meant to happen._

_The chair is cold, the padding creaks under him as he readjusts. Already the attendant is attaching receptors to his head. Another man is talking to him about what it's going to be like. He doesn't care. They don't seem to realize that he is a leading specialist on this topic, that he understands exactly what is going to happen, the repercussions. Which is the point._

_Allison..._

_**There was another incident; security failed.** His own voice and yet not his, but so calm when he wants to scream at the words._

_**Is it the schematics? They're just- they're too complex. I just need more time to work on them.**_

_**It's not your fault.** Why is this happening, it hurts, why won't they let him think. There isn't enough time. There was never enough time and he wants to scream, wants to cry._

_**How can you say that?** You demand. **Of course it is! Was anybody hurt?**_

_Hesitation, resignation. **I am sorry. Yes. Washington and another died.**_

_**Who?** He doesn't know if he can handle it, doesn't think he can. It hurts enough as it is. Washington, their youngest, the rookie, the cheerful one who is smiles and jokes and he skateboards in the corridors when he thinks no one is looking, but Alpha is watching. Was always watching through the cameras. He knew so much about all of them, and he's seen Washington break over and over again. And it hurts. He was supposed to protect him. Is supposed to protect him. How could it get worse than that?_

_**I... Can't say.**_

_**Who? Who died?!** And he doesn't want to know, but he has to._

_**Agent Texas.**_

The screams in his head almost fell from his lips, and Wash dragged the scratchy blanket over himself and refused to blink. Because closing his eyes made it worse. He could see it as clearly in his eyes as he could in his head then. It was always worse when he closed his eyes. 

Except he couldn't keep them open forever.

_I'm sorry._

Stop being sorry. Just leave me alone. 

* * * * * *

Washington had never had been good at remembering things. All his life it had been a short coming of his. He'd never remembered birthdays—York teased him about that one after he admitted it had taken North's coaxing for him to realize York's birthday had been approaching. He couldn't remember North's favorite color, or the scent of the shampoo that York kept in his locker, or what Maine's voice sounded like anymore. 

He could feel North's breath ghosting across his ear; it was hot and moist and sent shivers down his spine. His fingers could still feel the curve of York's hipbones. He knew the exact color of the blue of North's eyes. If he reached for it he could feel the way York's tongue dragged over his erection, the way North's hands clamped over his wrists that first time. Every last pant he made as North explored his body with kisses. His lips were warm, perfectly warm, and his tongue flicked out every fifth kiss. 

_Is this what insanity feels like?_

_I'm sorry._

He remembered his sixth birthday. The presents were wrapped with pale blue paper sprinkled with white snowflakes. It was left over paper from Christmas, which he'd only guessed at the time, and he was certain of now. His mother had never been good at wrapping, there were tears all down the edges where the scissors caught roughly. There was a hair, long and brown and his father's, caught in the tape on the underside. The box was white and thin. The tissue paper purple and reused from the glass bird he'd bought his mother for her birthday a few months back. He remembered every last detail. The way the air conditioning had broken down and the air was stifling. The house smelled of fresh bread because his father had made pepperoni rolls for dinner. His water was lukewarm when he reached for it. 

He remembered the absolute silence from Utah as the bubble shield closed around his head and then there was no air for him. The way South went pale, and North pounded on the table when the medics declared Utah dead. The way York had screamed and shouted in the locker room later and thrown his helmet at Utah's locker and it had left a dent. He had been in the way and actively had to dodge it. The way he had watched North comfort York and lead him off to deal with their grief, leaving Wash behind to deal with his own 

His stomach had been cold when North told him that he'd used the shield. 

_I'm sorry._

He had always been terrible at remembering things. 

But that was before Epsilon.

Washington was terrified, and he knew for absolute certain that he'd never been this scared before in his life. This was the worst fear he'd known. Ever. Of all time. 

He could say that with no hesitation. 

And he was so scared of that.


	12. Chapter 12

“Any clue what the room is used for?” York asked as they continued down the slightly darkened hall.

“Theta isn't coming up with any answers from the schematics he pulled,” North whispered as they came to a stop before a relatively unmarked door. Relatively was the key term here because there was a number beside it, like most of the doors in this area of the ship. The problem was that neither of them knew anything about what was going to be on the other side of this door other than—supposedly—Texas. 

It had crossed both of their minds that there was a chance this was a trap. That any interaction with Texas was a possible trap. 

They were here anyway.

“You wanna go first or should I?”

The question was moot, they both knew York would take point, though North was certain that neither of them could quite say why. 

_He has been the one taking the lead on this,_ Theta pointed out, as if it were the most logical thing in the world. 

_Be that as it may, we're supposed to be partners in this._

_Like teammates?_

_Yeah, sorta like that. But... I don't know. Different._

Theta went silent in his head as York took that first step forward and punched in the door code that had arrived with their summons to the meeting hours before. It was almost like the AI was holding his breath right along with North, for all that it made no sense for him to do so. Still, North waited as the door slid open, and with a gesture he and York moved as one, entering the room and trying to appear calm. 

All hell broke loose just after the door closed behind them, when the woman seated at the table in the room looked up, saw them both, and pulled a gun from somewhere, probably under the table. Training took over, North's hand going for the sheathe he had strapped under his shirt. His fingers closed around the hilt of the ka-bar even as he shifted away from the door, away from York, as his training told him he had to do. Part of his mind registered York moving the other way, pulling a pistol he hadn't even noticed York tuck into his sweat pants before they left, and aimed it at the woman. 

“Wow, you three are pretty fucking jumpy,” Texas drawled from her own place at the table, just to the side of the woman, and she didn't even bother to look up from the playing cards in her hands. 

“What the hell is going on, Tex?” North demanded, struggling to keep the strange panic he could literally taste in his mouth out of his voice. 

“I could ask the same thing,” the woman with the gun countered, turning her attention from York to North and back, apparently deciding the gun was the bigger threat. 

“Stand down, Four Seven,” was all Texas said as she selected two cards from her hand, placed them face down on the table, and drew two new ones. After a moment she reached for a small pile of colored chits and tossed one into a pile in the middle of the table. “Raising ten.”

“Yeah, I've got two Freelancers with weapons pretty seriously focused on me here,” the woman with the gun continued, and it was only with the flippant little way she said it that the woman's identity hit home. Strange, he'd never actually seen Four Seven Niner without her helmet on, but he supposed she could say something similar. North didn't know what he'd been expecting, but the short cropped and clearly dyed neon blue hair probably wasn't it. “Do you really expect me to just face that without a weapon of my own?”

“They'd kill you without hesitation if you so much as clipped one of them,” Texas sighed. “Not that I would be able to blame them. I'd take offense if someone shot my boyfriend.”

North heard York groan in annoyance as Four Seven Niner's eyes went wide as dinner plates, flashing rapidly back and forth between them once again. Then there was a smile, spreading easily over her lips, one that looked insanely satisfied. Honestly, they'd be lucky to get out of this without the whole MoI knowing about their relationship. 

“So Gates wasn't lying when he said he'd nailed you, York,” the blue haired woman laughed as she placed her pistol on the table and retrieved her own cards. “Call,” she announced to Texas, throwing her chits into the pile.

“It was actually the other way 'round,” York chuckled, and North watched out of the corner of his eye as York moved to the table himself, putting his pistol down as he pulled up a chair. “But I guess I can't expect much when the news comes from gossip. I've got to wonder, though, just what are you doing here, Four Seven?”

“I could ask the same of you two,” she countered as Texas showed her cards—a full house—and then cursed as she tossed her own away. 

“Our plans require a capable pilot during multiple phases. I'm not bad, but we'd be better off with someone more experienced. And I can't quietly get through the doors I need to without someone good with locks,” Texas provided, gathering the cards and starting to shuffle. North watched as Four Seven Niner pushed the pile of chits toward Texas after shifting a small collection toward York. 

“I was just thinking we should talk to you,” York chuckled.

“And I was thinking you were going to need backup for what you were suggesting the other night,” Four Seven Niner admitted as she took the cards that were dealt to her. “I'm guessing North is the secondary musc...”

It must have been mentioning his name that made her look at him, made all of them look at him, because North felt their attention turn fully toward him. Felt it shift after that to the knife still in his hand and the way he held himself ready for a fight.

“North?” York asked, concern clear in his voice.

_Theta..._

There were calculations running in the back of his head, hundreds of them. How likely was it that he could put the knife through Four Seven Niner's throat at this range considering his less than stellar skill with thrown weapons? What were the chances that Texas would leap to her defense? York? Exactly how much force did it take to break a human neck? Would Four Seven Niner's previously archived reflexes enable her to grab the gun and shoot him before he could reach her?

_Theta!_

_We can't trust her! the AI practically screamed in his head. The only ones we can trust are Miles and Delta. Everyone else is an unknown quantity who could easily decide to sell us out to the Director. They would take me from you then, Nic. He would kill you. He would kill you and take me and take Delta and kill Miles and David and everyone. We can't trust her._

_Theta, please, if Texas..._

_No, no she's not right either. She's not telling us everything. She didn't tell us about this. She didn't tell us about the sealed Beta file. She didn't tell us why C.T. chose her. And she didn't stop them from hurting David. Now she's putting us in this situation... We can't trust her. We can't trust anyone. If we want to save David then we have to do it ourselves. Get rid of them. Please, Nic, get rid of them._

_Theta I was just surprised. Clearly Four Seven wants to help us, wants to save David. That means a lot._

His grip on the knife shifted as York quietly cursed and pushed himself away from the table. 

_Can't you see, Nic? Can't you see? Everything, everything has been a lie. The only good that has come from all of this is York and David and me. So please, trust me. I need you to trust me._

_Theta, I need you to back out of my nervous system. Please, I understand that you're afraid and stressed, but I promise this is a safe place, but it can only be that if you back out and let me put away the knife._

_NO!_

_Theta, please..._

York's hands came up as he quietly approached, and in a perfect placating gesture: hands up over his waist to show he had no weapon, but palms angled more toward himself than toward North. It was a textbook strategy for dealing with uncertain aggressors in civilian populations. It was part of standard basic training these days, and North wanted to applaud him for the move. The only problem was that Theta knew just what York was doing, and suddenly there were new calculations running through the back of his mind. 

Too many of the ones that had been added to Theta's queue were calculating how to fight York.

“Theta, listen, I know the situation is a bit stressful and none of us were expecting Four Seven Niner, but how about you let North put the knife down? We won't understand why she's here unless we talk to her, you know? We've got to give her a chance,” York said, his voice low and clearly meant to be soothing. 

_Listen to him, Theta. If she meant us any harm, she would have shot at us already. And look, Delta has to trust her, or he wouldn't let York be in this situation._

_Delta..._ Theta seemed to hesitate at last, enough for North to loosen his grip some on the knife. That seemed to be all the sign York needed, because he closed the distance between them faster than Theta could restore a strong grip on the knife, and he was suddenly there, arms wrapped tightly around North's chest, his head on North's shoulder, and his voice was there, whispering quiet comfort in his ear. 

“Hey, kid, I know it's hard. We've all been through a lot lately. Strangers are kinda hard to deal with when something like this happens. But sometimes there are things we can't handle on our own. Sometimes we need other people. Texas realized we needed more people to help us save Wash. But we still can't do it without you and North. So please...”

_Nic?_ Theta asked nervously, something a bit like sorrow in his voice.

_Yeah, Theta?_

_Did... I do a bad thing?_

_No. You were worried and scared. It happens to the best of us. Remember how Miles and I reacted when they started taking Wash away?_

_You were scared._

_Yeah. We were really scared. Fear makes us do things that aren't always the best ideas. But we have to learn from those mistakes and keep going._

_Can... Can we keep the knife nearby?_

He didn't want to, he really didn't want to, and North knew Theta could sense that. Still, he sent a little wave of agreement toward Theta, and felt the AI pull back slightly. Maybe not fully out of his nervous system, and definitely not all the way out of the hand holding the knife, but he relaxed his grip on North's body. 

“I won't let anything happen to you. To either of you,” York was whispering in his ear, and North smiled as he finally lowered the knife and wrapped his free arm around his partner. 

“Thanks. He was really upset.”

“I couldn't tell,” York snarked at him, pulling back enough to clearly smile at North. “Come on, sit down.”

“Sorry,” North said as York released him, slowly moving toward the table but with the knife still obvious in his hand. Four Seven Niner was clearly watching it, though Texas hadn't really shifted her attention from the cards in her hand. What did it take to shake that woman short of a massive conspiracy to control and torture an artificial intelligence unit to cause its personality to splinter for the use of controlling highly experimental military tech? “Theta wasn't... comfortable with the surprise. I'd suggest we avoid ones like this in the future.”

“I should have thought of it,” Texas answered as he sat down, knife still in hand. “I understand that he wants to protect you, but it hadn't occurred to me that everything might... worry him. How's he doing, North?”

“Honestly, I think he'd be more comfortable if I didn't tell you,” North admitted with a shake of his head, feeling a sense of agreement from Theta. 

“D's been having trouble as well,” York admitted, picking up his cards and then, not so subtly, shifted his seat closer to North's so their legs could touch under the table. “Not every day you learn your boss tortured your creator to create you and your siblings.”

That earned a raised eyebrow from Four Seven Niner. “Not sure I'm following here.”

“I'm sure Texas has explained the situation somewhat,” York said with a frown, looking to the fully armored and still helmeted Freelancer. 

“Minus the terminology. Omega never cared for it, and frankly, I wouldn't call the Alpha their creator so much as a fellow, and the primary, victim. But yeah, covered most of it. Not your part in all of this, though...”

“But I can make an educated guess,” the pilot said with a faint smile on her face. “Not that hard to put two and two together. I heard about the stunt you two pulled when they were loading the kid up in my hold. Mix that with what I learned from Gates, Texas's comment when you came in, that little display and... Well, gents, I wish you luck, because I've never seen a poly work out. Granted I haven't seen many polys, but they ones I have imploded pretty spectularly.”

“We spent a lot of time on ground rules,” North sighed as he settled better into his seat, knife still loosely held in his hands as they rested in his lap. If Theta was intent on using the thing as a security blanket, he wasn't going to take it away from the tense AI. 

“By 'we' he means him and Wash, and by 'a lot' he means almost five hours over the course of a week, and by 'ground rules' he means the things that don't really come up for all that they tote them as the basis for the functional status of our relationship,” York grumbled under his breath as he always did when the idea of the careful thought North and Wash had put into making their relationship stable came up. 

“Wow, sounds like a pain,” Texas groaned even as 479er nodded and insisted, “That was a great move, North.”

“I didn't want to lose either of them,” North explained, watching one of his thumbs brush along the flat of his knife. 

“Well, I guess this means that I won't be raking in the cash with Florida's betting pool,” the pilot lamented half-heartedly, a smile curling her lips. 

“Actually, about that. We just need a bit more in the pool before Carolina will go for it, so if you're willing to renegotiate how we're splitting the cash, I'll make sure the rest is thrown in before we make our move,” York chuckled. 

“Why her?” North asked, and York's chuckle was engulfed in the sudden, and awkward silence. “I figure I know why Texas is involved, all things considered. I know why York and I are doing this. But her?” His fingers tightened on the knife again, this time of his own accord and not Theta's. 

“North...” Texas started, only to be cut off by Four Seven putting down her cards and leaning back in her chair with a sigh. 

“Lacey. You can call me Lacey. I figure considering we're pretty much aiming to bring this whole project down around our heads, we might as well use names. Or I might as well use a name. Less awkward than a string of numbers. As for why I'm involved... I was the one that flew Wash out of here, remember?”

“Yes,” North said, and he found York saying it as tersely as he had. So maybe there was a part of both of them that blamed her for getting there and prepping her Pelican so fast that they couldn't do anything.

“I might not have been there for the really bad shit I heard about regarding the implant, but the sedative they used on Wash wasn't strong enough,” she continued, lacing her fingers together in her lap and staring down at them. “I've carried a lot of people on my boat for the military. I know what it sounds like when someone has screamed their throat so raw that they're practically breathing in their own blood. I know what it sounds like when screams are whispered. They had to strap him down to the gurney because even sedated he was flailing. And the look on the Counselor's face was... You know how smooth and controlled that guy is. There was fear in his eyes when he boarded.”

“Shit, you're fucking kidding,” York mumbled while North's fingers tightened around the knife for an entirely different reason. 

_Nic..._

_Please, Theta, not right now. I need to focus._

“Before either of you ask, for that matter, I don't know where Washington is right now. I took them where I was ordered, which was another ship, and I didn't get a read on its name. When they cleared me for landing they didn't give it. We stayed there for a bit, and I was kept isolated on my bird. The Counselor returned after a while and when we left I got a read that the ship was spinning up its engines. Wherever it is now, it's gone. I'm sorry. Anyway, Texas came to me a few days ago, while you were suspended, and asked me for help on a quiet job. When she started to explain the situation with the whole project and what the Director has been up to... took what she was telling me and put it together with what was happening with Wash, and I decided that I had to help.”

“That simple?” York asked. 

“Not exactly,” Texas admitted, amusement in her voice. “Lacey insisted that I had to try and do something about Wash. So when North insisted on the same thing, I was a bit amused.”

“Why help Wash, though?” North asked, raising his eyes to meet the pilot's. 

“He's a good kid,” she sighed. “Who didn't deserve the poor luck he got. Wherever this goes, whatever happens, you get me the coordinates for that ship and I'll get you there.”

“Well... We all done with chatty time?” Texas asked. “Because we've already wasted a good deal of time, and we're here to plan, not gossip.”

“You gotten anything figured out yet?” York asked.

“A decent bit,” Texas admitted. “I want to run what I've got by you and have you three punch holes in it. Then we'll take suggestions, work them in, and break for the night. Meet again tomorrow when we've had a chance to think it out a bit more. This isn't going to be a walk in the park, kiddos. While you're thinking about this, assume that everyone on this ship is going to be watching and is better than us. Probably won't be true in a lot of ways, but caution is the only way we're winning this. Got it?”

_Theta, you've got my permission to run as many calculations on this as possible, North thought toward his AI. Absolutely any potential holes that don't involve trusting Texas or Lacey is fair game. We've got to get this right._

_Got it._

“Let's do this,” North found himself saying, and he felt York's hand rest on his thigh under the table and give it a little squeeze.


	13. Chapter 13

He was awake by the third tap on his door. On his feet by the fifth, and standing there as the door slid open by the seventh. 

“Rise and shine, sunshine,” Texas said as she pushed past York into his room, hauling him away from the door as she went. 

“Texas?” he mumbled, stumbling after the lead she had through the grip on his wrist. “What...”

“How long would it take you to pack up?” 

That was too much for this early in the morning. 

_0232,_ Delta quickly offered, York not even needing to prompt his AI. 

“What?” he asked, squinting at Texas in confusion. “What are you doing...”

He didn't see the backhand coming. Delta must have, he was too smart to miss something like that, but he didn't warn York. So all that was left was for York to stumble back a few steps, his hand coming up to touch his now tender left cheek, and his eyes narrowed at Texas. 

“What the _fuck_ was that for?” he demanded, taking a further step back. She wasn't going to catch him off guard again.

_Should have warned me, D._

_The problem is that you would not have understood the warning even had I provided it, Miles. You have not... Historically responded well to being awoken._

“Woke you, didn't it?” Texas asked, amusement clear in her voice. “We don't have time for you to fumble around like a useless cockbite. Now answer the question. How long will it take you to get ready?”

“For what?”

_I believe that Agent Texas is attempting to convey that phase one of the operation is now in effect, requiring you to act with haste._

_Phase one? That... That isn't possible._

“From the far away look of concern, I'm guessing Delta's already put two and two together,” Texas mused as she moved to lean against the door. 

“It's too soon for this,” York found himself saying as he moved to haul the duffel he took with him during their rare bits of shore-leave to stock up on supplies otherwise unavailable on the MoI out from under his bed. “You can't be serious about this. What's going on?”

“Couldn't sleep,” Texas said, something strange in her voice. “Asked F.I.L.S.S. if anyone was using the training room, hoping to work out some stress. I was told the Director has arranged for a combat situation testing with me and Omega, and until the review I'm not allowed use of the training room.”

“Shit...” York cursed as he started throwing necessities and personal items into the bag. The few things he actually wanted with him beyond what he would need went in the bag. His favorite shirt from before Freelancer, the personal items that he had brought with him, the personal effects that North had snuck into his room since the first meeting with Texas and Lacey two nights before. The things neither of them wanted to leave behind, or could afford to if their rooms got searched after this.

He was supposed to have already had this bag packed, but they were supposed to have more time. 

“Pretty much how I felt,” Texas agreed, sounding quiet annoyed. “Problem is we can't trust Omega to not blab everything, and I can't afford to let the Director know I've been pulling him since just before the fight with Carolina. We'll blow everything if we don't go now.”

“Yeah, no, you're right there,” York agreed. That didn't mean he didn't want more time. Another night to hold Nic in his arms. Another afternoon to run locks or shotguns or hand to hand or something. Another few hours to spend with Delta, Theta and Nic to punch holes in the plan to make it better. More time trying to make sure Theta and Nic were really more stable than they had seemed just a day ago. 

_We cannot afford to stay,_ Delta said, his voice very restrained and clearly attempting to be soothing, for all that Delta could hardly achieve that. _Texas will have difficulty accessing the necessary parts of the ship without our assistance, and Omega cannot be trusted with something as important as the secrecy of our cause._

_I know, but that doesn't make it any better,_ York sighed. _Nic's going to wake up and be told that we've betrayed everyone. The Director can't spin it any other way._

_He'll know better._

_Will he?_

“Our disappearance will signal the others to be prepared at any moment for phase two,” Texas continued as York finished tossing the vitals into his bag and moved to grab additional clothes to pad out the bag at bit. They wouldn't have time to properly stow it in the Pelican they were bound to steal, so he had to do whatever was possible to keep things safe in the cargo hold. 

“Any estimate on how much time we'll wait for that?” 

Texas gave a brief shake of her head. “As little as we can get away with, as much as we can afford. I figure the longer we take the more likely they are to try and come after us, or to look too closely at North. This is the best plan we've got.”

“Yeah. I know, Texas...”

“Tex. From now on, call me Tex.”

_As close as she's given to a name throughout the whole process,_ Delta observed. Which was true. Of everyone involved in the process, Texas was the only one still sticking to the name she had been given. Her only explanation when pressed was that 'it's a name I don't intend to remember.' 

“Fine. Tex. Like I was trying to say, what do we do if we need to get word to the others about something?”

Tex just shrugged as York handed her the duffel. “I suppose we'll wing it. Now, we're running on borrowed time here. Meet me at the rendezvous in thirty minutes.”

“That isn't much wiggle room,” York observed, even going so far as to gesture to his armor-less state. “Sure you can't give me an hour?”

“Thirty minutes,” Texas responded, before punching the door open button and slipping out. “Don't let me down.”

“I'll try not to,” York sighed, following her out. The two headed quietly down the hall, bound to travel together so far as the cafeteria. From there their paths would split, York bound for the locker room to armor up and grab the last of his gear, and Texas to raid the armory before stealing them a Pelican. 

* * * * * *

_How much time do we have, D?_

_We still have approximately twenty minutes until our rendezvous with Agent Texas._

_Most efficient route to the meeting point?_

_As strange as it might seem, the route you took to pursue David's departure might best fit our..._

The world erupted into flashing lights and blaring alarms as York slammed his locker shut and shouldered the small pack he had stuffed with what few ammo clips and other important items he'd kept in his locker. 

_Sounds like Tex has made her move on the armory,_ Delta observed. _Given this change in situation, it is likely that we should attempt to take a circuitous route._

_Just how circuitous we talking here, D?_

_I believe it might be in our best interests to avoid the halls._

York looked up at the ceiling and the vent set into it with a sigh. 

_I was afraid you were going to say that._

* * * * * *

“You're dusty...” Tex observed with a shout as York ducked behind a metal crate to avoid a spray of bullets from one of the Freelancer PFCs that had probably been tasked with guarding the docking bay.

“Yeah, well someone decided to set off every alarm on the ship while loading up on weapons,” York shot back at her, pulling the pistol from the magstrip on his leg. Even though Delta assured him that the clip was full, he checked anyway, checked twice. These kids just had the poor luck of being in the right place at the wrong time, and he couldn't really bring himself to shoot at them.

“Apparently the Director is sort of protective of the giant stores of weapons, ammo, and explosives on this ship. Who would have thought?” she snapped back, popping up over her own cover and throwing a frag grenade. 

_Shit that's way too much firepower for this situation,_ York cursed in Delta's direction. 

_I disagree with your analysis,_ Delta returned immediately. _I suggest you observe the repercussions before you judge the actions._

York peeked out around the edge of the crate, and sure enough there was motion. Motion pointedly away from the grenade by all of the poor saps who had made the mistake of getting between Tex and her goal. 

“Let's move,” she growled as the grenade exploded, and York threw himself over the top of his crate, his feet in motion even as they hit the ground. The pistol was immediately back on his magstrip, replaced by the shotgun he had pointedly loaded with lockdown paint. Maybe it wasn't he best choice, but this was the best thing he could do to balance what they wanted to achieve and the innocence of the people in their way. 

“Got your bird picked out?” he called conversationally as he followed Texas into another bit of cover, this time a large gravcart loaded down with some sort of storage lockers. 

“Nearest,” Tex said, taking a moment to switch out the clip in her pistol. “I'll need you to hold the cargo bay while I go forward and shut the ramp. Think you can handle it?”

“Not like I have much of a choice. Ready to move?”

“On my mark. Sync?”

“Sync,” York called back, pumping his shotgun. 

“Mark.”

They move together, ducking around the cart, and they made their way toward the nearest Pelican. Delta didn't need to call out to him so much as just ping toward his left and York twisted sharply, unloading a blast of lockdown paint right into the chest of a random Project Freelancer trooper. Clad as the kid was in standard armor the pink paint exploded over him and threw him back several feet, solidifying almost immediately. That being said, York knew it had to hurt. Taking lockdown paint in non-powered armor was a lot like taking a beanbag round.

_Approaching extraction point,_ Delta announced in his head. _Enemy at your five._

Twist on the back of his heels, spin with the kind of smooth motion that made almost no sense in powered armor. Another cock of the shotgun while spinning, relying as much on momentum as anything else, and another blast sent a poor innocent fool flying back, his legs fused by the paint. 

“Hurry up, York!” Texas's voice shouted, and the tinny echo around it was all he needed to know that she had made it into the Pelican. 

_How much further?_

The question didn't need an answer, because as York backed up a step, reloading his shotgun as he did, his armored foot hit the ramp of the Pelican. Well. That went easier than he had expected it to. 

“Keep them out,” Tex called from the cockpit, and York took what cover he could from the ramp closing mechanism. It wasn't the best cover, but it was something. 

“Trying that,” York called back. _D, get me a read on all enemy targets. Set priority levels based on equipment and proximity. Give preference to targets within sprinting distance of the ramp, the hanger control panel, and anyone carrying a weapon that goes boom._

_Calculating priority levels,_ Delta came back immediately, and York could feel a new range of calculations form up in the back of his head. 

_When completed overlay on HUD._

_Overlaying on HUD now._

“How much longer you need, Tex?”

“Just buy me a few more minutes. Gotta get through the protections here. From what I can tell there's someone on the command deck trying to shut down all flight protocols on the birds.”

“Do you need Delta?” he asked, whipping out around the support, lifting the pistol, and hitting someone approaching the control panel with two shots. The first managed to take the person in one of his hands, the other exploded over the helmet. Fuck, he hadn't meant to do that. Hopefully someone would get to the kid quickly enough to chip him out. 

“Trust me, I can handle this.”

Back into cover, swing the shotgun over his shoulder, deep breath. Don't think about North or Wash or even Tex. Just view it as a mission. 

_Level one target by the entrance._

_Level one signifying...?_

_Rocket launcher._

_Well fuck that._

Out around the support again, five shots in a row at the distant target Delta lit up in his vision with a virulent shade of red. The distance was more than he was really good with, but with Delta to compensate three of the shot actually hit, two of them the ones he had aimed at the mouth of the rocket launcher, and the third hitting the soldier in the shoulder.

“How we doing up there?”

“Another minute.”

“Dammit Tex, they're starting to send in the... Oh fuck.”

The hanger door opened again and instead of the white and gray of a normal Freelancer cannon-fodder soldier there was a flash of deep blue that could only mean one thing. 

“What's up?” Tex called back to him. 

“I swear to god, Tex, if you don't get this ramp up and us in the air, we're going to have a big problem here.”

“There's no way there's something out there you can't handle.”

“Actually, Agent Texas, given the amount of time which has passed it is entirely feasible that the other Freelancers have all been roused, armored, and are on their way here,” Delta provided as he holoprojected himself over York's shoulder.

“I wouldn't be surprised if...” Texas came back immediately.

“Do you two mind? I'm kinda trying to keep my eyes on Florida,” York growled, ejecting the clip in his pistol to switch out for live rounds. 

“Florida?”

There was a quick flash of blue again, Florida's head peeking up over a crate, and York unloaded his entire clip in that direction to get the other Freelancer's head down. 

“Yeah. No clue if he's here for Wyoming, or if he's just planning on handling this himself. Either way I'd be more comfortable if...”

York was cut off by the high whine of servos, and he threw himself back from the ramp mechanisms as Florida's head came up again, his weapon with him. 

“Shit, explosive rounds incoming,” York shouted as he dropped his pack and threw himself at the cockpit. 

“Jeez, cut your complaining. We're gonna make it,” Texas insisted as York pulled himself into the gunner seat and she thumbed the door lock to shut the cockpit. “Just be ready to shoot in case someone grabs another Pelican.”

“Delta, if you'd do the honors?”

“Of course,” the AI agreed before fading from York's shoulder and partially from his mind. It wasn't often he asked his AI to integrate with other tech, but Delta's reaction time was far better than his, and better suited to keep them safe. 

“Florida, huh?” Texas asked as the Pelican shuddered around them and the thrusters started up. 

“Yeah,” York sighed, staring down at the readouts on his monitor, watching for data that would suggest a missile lock of any size on the Pelican. “Honestly, other than Maine, he probably has, had the best chance of dealing with us. Not to give the others grief, but the gear load-outs those two use are better at taking down something this size.”

“You think Carolina couldn't do it?”

“Agent Carolina is quite capable and could likely have stopped our efforts if she had arrived in a timely manner,” Delta offered, appearing before York. “Clearly she did not arrive in time.”

“Passing into open space,” Tex announced as the Pelican moved through the energy barrier that sealed the atmosphere of the bay. “We're not out of hot water just yet, boys. The Mother could still shoot us out of the air, and their tracking systems are substantial. In an hour we might be able to relax. For the time being... York, head back and secure the packs as best you can. Delta, stay up here and monitor our defenses. I'm gonna need all the help I can get.”

“Roger,” York said as he climbed out of the seat and the door to the hold slid open when Texas hit a button. 

He even managed to get the first two large bags Texas had been carrying—bags filled with ammo, weapons, and a surprising amount of spike grenades—secured by tying them in to the seat harnesses before he found himself forced to sit down.

“Nic...” he whispered into the empty hold, clenching his fists tightly. 

Just like with David, he hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye.


	14. Chapter 14

When the door opened he had expected Abernathy. Or maybe the 'orderlies.' Or someone else. Anyone else. Waking up first thing in the morning he hadn't expected this.

“Well how you doing there, Wash?”

“Yeah, the shrink warned me there might be visions or hallucinations or something, so you've sorta got me at a disadvantage here, Florida,” Wash groaned as he sat up, setting his book on the pillow his head had just been resting on. 

“Wow, Wash, I didn't know you were in to children's books,” Florida chuckled as he crossed to the seat Abernathy always opted for. Washington tried not too follow him too closely, tried not to focus on him too hard. What were the chances that this was real? Maybe the fragments of Epsilon still lodged in his head were finally coalescing into full scale madness. 

“Given the selection I've got, it's the best I can do,” Wash laughed under his breath, glancing back at the book. “You ever read them? It's the last book, a lot of shit is going down.”

“Sounds a bit like life. A lot of shit is always going down,” Florida laughed, his fingers coming up and flicking the locks on his helmet. The chuckle continued as the other man hauled the helmet off and put it on the table in front of him. Wash watched as Florida's hand came up and ran through his long brown hair, stopping just short of pulling it from the pony-tail that Wash remembered having been there since their days as beta group Freelancers. There was the same amusement in his eyes, the same five o'clock shadow that had perpetually been there when they were planet-side, and the same confidence that he'd never understood.

“I wouldn't know given the fact that I'm not allowed out of this room. But, honestly, Florida, you've got to throw me a bone here. From what the docs seem to expect I could be going crazy right now and you're not really here. Honestly, that might be a relief, because then I'd at least be here for a reason, which would seem to be a change of pace. So hey, any proof you could give me on either side of the debate would be lovely.”

He was ranting. Wash knew he was ranting, but he couldn't find it in himself to stop. Delusion or not, Florida was the first person he'd seen that had an arguably friendly face in far too long. 

“Woah, woah, slow down there champ. No need to get too jumpy here. I know it won't be worth much, but I promise you're not delusional, at least not in seeing me. I'm really here. Honestly, I'm sorta here to provide security detail, but we both know you're not going to force my hand that way.”

The smile was still there, still wide, still friendly, and Wash couldn't help but shudder at it anyway. There was something about Florida, there had always been something about Florida, that bugged him. First and foremost on that list had been the fact that he had never really understood how the older man had made it into the program. It was easy to write him off as an appendage to Wyoming's work, but there had always been _something_ that made him shudder when Florida got the look in his eyes that he had right now.

_Butch Flowers had always been the best in his field. Which was why he was such a prime candidate. Someone who people turned to with trust because of his disarming personality. He was ideal for the purposes of the program._

And apparently Epsilon wasn't fond of him either. 

“Force your hand?” Wash asked, frowning at Florida. Had the other Freelancer just threatened him?

“They tell me you've been a bit aggressive lately, Wash. We can't have that with the boss around,” Florida genuinely smiled at him. 

There was really only one person who could be considered their 'boss' so far as this situation was concerned. Carolina was 'boss' in a lot of ways, but she wouldn't need Florida to protect her. The only one who could be their 'boss' who would need protection from Wash unarmored as he currently was had to be...

The door slid open again, and Wash jumped to his feet. It was training, not actual respect, that lead to Wash snapping to attention as the tall, dark haired man that was the Director— _was him_ —strode easily into the room. Florida threw himself to his feet as well, grabbing his helmet and putting it back in place on his head. When the Director— _Dr. Leonard Church_ —came to a rest centered on the one-way mirror, Florida moved to stand behind him. He seemed to be at ease, but Wash could read the tension in the other Freelancer without trying. Florida was here to protect the Director, which meant they seriously thought he would threaten the Director.

The truth of the matter, though, was that Wash couldn't be certain that, given the chance, he wouldn't have gone after the Director. There was still a part of him that was Epsilon, and that part wanted to throttle the older man for what he had done to them. Done to the Alpha, done to Delta and Theta and...

_Those aren't my memories,_ Washington reminded himself, managing to keep his fists from clenching at his sides, to keep his teeth from tearing into his lip. He hated this man in a way he didn't know how to justify, so he had to hide it. Anything else could get him killed.

He was really getting tired of that realization. 

“Agent Washington...”

“David,” he snapped almost immediately. That earned him a slightly confused look from the Director, and a tilt of the head from Florida. 

“Excuse me?” the Director asked, his voice hard and disapproving. “What did you say?”

“So long as I'm being treated like a mental patient and not a member of Project Freelancer, I might as well be considered a civilian,” Wash answered, his voice surprisingly more level than he'd expected to pull off. 

“Agent Washington,” the Director repeated, only to have Wash cut him off again.

“David.”

There was a hard look on the Director's face after that, but Wash ignored it. At last the older man sighed and shook his head. “Fine, David, have it your way. I am not here to quibble with you over meaningless details. I am here to discuss a recent issue which has arisen.”

“So you're not here about Epsilon?” 

“You have proven to be resistant to discussing the occurrence with Epsilon up until this point, so I see no point in wasting my own efforts on your stubbornness,” the Director sighed, the frown he wore more pronounced. “Our concerns at this juncture are more pressing. I need you to tell me everything you know about Agent York.”

“I know he's not as good with hololocks as he likes to tell us,” Wash answered, surprised at just how level he had kept his voice. What in the world had happened to have the Director here in person asking about Miles? 

“I am not here for your sense of humor, David. Agent York has caused us a good deal of trouble, and it is in your best interest and the best interests of Project Freelancer for you to cooperate with our efforts to recover Agent York and the Delta AI.”

Recover? What...?

“So you were not privy to Agent Texas and Agent York's escape from the Mother of Invention and Texas's attempt to steal the Gamma AI from Agent Wyoming,” the Director said after reading Wash's expression

His eyes must have gone wide, but the Director's eyes narrowed disapprovingly. 

“I can't tell you what the hall outside of this room looks like, much less what is going on with the Project since I was imprisoned here, so why would I be aware of what Texas and York are up to? I've barely ever said anything to Texas, and York and I were only friends, not psychically tied,” Wash responded, and yet he couldn't help but worry just why this was being brought to him. 

More than that, he wanted to know what the hell was going on that would make York flee the MoI with Texas and not North. 

The Director turned his attention to Florida for half a moment rather than answer. Something passed between them, maybe a signal, because Florida cleared his throat. 

“Inquiring minds have to know, _David,_ ” Florida started, his voice as cheery as any other time Wash had ever heard it, “how long have you been sleeping with Agent York? Because the betting pool...”

Florida saw him coming, for all that Wash hadn't realized he had moved. Even as his hand came up to grab at the other Freelancer there was a foot hooking around his knee and pulling. He fell and even as he hit the floor Florida had a knee on his chest, his wrists pinned to the floor, and his helmet close to Wash's face. 

“Now now, I told you that you'd been overly aggressive lately,” Florida said conversationally with a tilt of his head. “This is why I have to be here. It was a simple question. How long?”

“Fuck you,” Wash growled low in his throat. “Fuck both of you. If York ran then he had a damn good reason.”

“So you are not going to cooperate, David?”

“Fuck. You,” Wash repeated, no longer able to keep the bile from his voice. “Whatever York's up to, I wish him luck.”

“I am disappointed in you, Agent Washington,” the Director announced, said emotion thick in his voice. “Rest assured, the repercussions of your decision will soon be felt. Agent Florida...”

“You made a poor choice, David,” Florida whispered, his voice full of pity. “Now the Director is going to have to take it out on North. Really, not a nice thing to inflict on your lover.”

Wash just stared up at Florida, eyes wide with shock. After a moment Florida inclined his head just the littlest bit, and all David could do was curse himself internally. That little gesture was enough for him to realize the mistake he had made. 

He'd confirmed what Florida had only suspected. 

“Don't,” he begged as Florida started to stand. “Please... don't.”

“Thing is, it's not up to me,” Florida sighed, pushing himself to his feet.

The door hissed open and David listened to the sharp clip of the Director's shoes, soon followed by the heavier clomps of Florida's boots. David just laid there on the floor, arm over his eyes, and let himself cry. 

He'd tried so hard. Tried so motherfucking hard. 

And he'd fucked up.

* * * * * *

He picked himself up a few hours later. Tore all the books off the shelves. Ripped the sheets from the bed. Cursed for half an hour at the one-way mirror. Stood in the shower for two hours, letting the water rush over him. 

Armored up for the first time since they'd brought him civilian clothes. 

Stretched out on the bare mattress, stared up at the ceiling, and turned off the speakers and microphone and even the visual feed from his visor. 

Let himself be held by the darkness for a while. 

_I'm sorry._

By the third apology from Epsilon's echoing voice accompanied by a flash of blue light, he found himself staring into the darkness and made a decision. 

“The time for apologies is over, Epsilon. It's time for action. We're done sitting and waiting. I've got to do something, and I know I can't without you.”

There was no response, but he hadn't been expecting any. He just kept staring into the darkness. 

“I _need_ to know, Epsilon. I can't go into this blind anymore. I need to know _everything._ ”

Something in the words seemed to click in the back of his mind. For the first time Wash dove willingly into the mass of memories Epsilon had left him, and he didn't fight back.

He embraced the darkness and the flashes and the torrent of pain and knowledge that threatened to rip a scream from his throat. 

He didn't even notice when a medical team ran into the room to tear off his helmet and watch as the seizure ran its course. He remembered it later, but far back in the corner of his mind where it didn't stand out. That pain was far less pressing than all of the other Epsilon mounded upon him. 

But the truth was worth it. 

Had to be worth it.


	15. Chapter 15

“This is bullshit. Pure and utter _bullshit!_ ” South roared, and North just watched her, fighting back the sense of deja vu he had as she paced back and forth in front of his bed, swearing up a storm.

The whole situation was strangely familiar, and he couldn't quite place why.

_You're thinking about the night Miles played you the recording,_ Theta provided almost immediately. 

_Oh, right. That. Somehow it felt like a lifetime ago._

“You really need to calm down, South,” North sighed, shifting to rest an arm on his raised knee. It wasn't a very comfortable motion, and honestly he wouldn't have been surprised if this had been the first time he'd ever made it before. There were a lot of things he had never done in full armor before, but since the sudden exit by Miles and Tex things had changed. The tension that always lingered under the surface in Project Freelancer had welled forth since the incident, and even if it hadn't been for the Director's orders that the group be prepared for action at a moment's notice in case they received word of where Texas and/or York might be holed up, North would have worn his armor more anyway. 

Phase two of the plan required him to be ready at all times, after all. He had was no way to be certain of when York and Tex would return for the Alpha, and he had to be there to cover their asses when they did. He was positive that even now Lacey was with her Pelican doing some menial and easily delayed task that could honestly have been put off but gave her a continuing excuse to be ready and in position. There was even a stash in her hanger that had their own supplies for after the escape stored away, hidden in a crate that they'd managed to get 'do not touch' plates on without anyone noticing or questioning.

Or, at least, they hoped it was without anyone noticing. Things were changing too fast to keep up with easily, even with Theta to help him calculate odds. 

For instance, who could have foreseen Florida's transfer so soon on the heels of the escape?

_That still bothers me,_ Theta admitted in the back of his head, and North resisted the urge to nod in agreement. South would notice and would ask questions that he couldn't afford to have her ask. Ones he could afford even less to answer.

_We could tell her..._ Theta suggested after a moment, his voice as hesitant at the prospect as North felt himself. Maybe it was his own concern that had kept him from floating the idea around to the others involved in the plan. South was hard to predict at the best of times, impossible at most, and utterly contradictory when he needed stable. Things had only been worse since David...

_No,_ North came back after a moment. _No, it's not a good idea, Theta. I know you have trouble trusting that Tex is going to hold up her end of the bargain, but I believe in her, and so does York. Same with Lacey. But Nicole... I'm not certain she wouldn't turn us in just for a chance at an AI._

_I'm... Sorry._

_Don't be, little guy. It's not your fault. It's just what South has always been like._

“I do _not_ need to calm down, North. If anything, you need to start flipping the fuck out yourself. I mean, have you miraculously failed to notice the fact that the world has managed to start fucking falling in around our heads, and for what? Because Texas couldn't handle having her AI pulled? You know what, this all comes the fuck back to Washington. Because of him...”

North moved before he really thought about it, and Theta didn't stop him. He even got a tight grip on her chest piece and hauled her close before South seemed to realize she had pissed him off. Not surprising since normally their relationship worked in the other direction. He was level headed, she was angry. Well, for once he couldn't resist the reverse. It was almost like she knew just what buttons to push. Except that wasn't possible.

“I'm going to say this once, Nicky, and only _once._ Lay. Off. Washington.”

“Or what?” she countered, her voice a low hiss of annoyance, not of fear like it should have been. Then again, he'd never raised a hand against her except in mandated matches. When would she have learned to be afraid of him?

“You don't want to know.”

South snorted in derision and pulled away, and North let her go. 

“Honestly, I'm just looking forward to when they send Carolina after Texas. One bitch putting another in her place.”

“The Director isn't going to run the risk of sending Carolina out there,” North sighed as he sat back down on the edge of his bed. “She's too caught up in the idea of Texas to be allowed to go off reservation like that.”

“You don't get it, do you, Nic? This is Texas we're talking about. She went rogue. Broke out of the facility in order to save her precious AI. Did you conveniently forget the part where they found Wyoming? That she tried to steal Gamma? That she tried to get his equipment too?” Nicole's voice was disdainful, scornful even, and she tried to sound like she was talking down to a kid. This time North restrained his anger, glaring down at his fists instead. 

“That hasn't been proven. Besides, that doesn't sound like her.”

A contemptuous little chuckle. “How would you know?”

Again North was standing, staring down at his sister from his slightly superior height, and wishing she could see the worlds of knowledge he knew had to be painted across his face in that moment. “Just trust me, sis. I know, and besides, if she _had_ done it, there wouldn't be anything left of Wyoming to find.”

“She's not a fucking monster, North,” South returned, stepping away and heading for the door. “No matter how you want to paint it, she's just another bitch in a program full of them.”

It was hard not to chuckle, because North knew how easily his sister fit that very description. 

“Once they find Texas, they'll bring her back,” North answered, knowing he didn't believe a single word of it. Tex would return when she felt it was time, and York would be with her. 

The comment couldn't have been better timed, it really couldn't have. Because no sooner were the words out of his mouth than an alarm rent the air and F.I.L.S.S.'s almost annoyingly positive voice came right after it. 

“Intruder alert. Intruder alert. Breach in security. Level zero.”

“Or,” he said, unable to resist a little chuckle because wow York, what a time to fuck up on a lock, “she'll come back on her own.”

“All Freelancers report in,” F.I.L.S.S. continued, and North shrugged as South stormed through the door without another word, his sister probably opting to demand her orders from the ship AI through the helmet radio. 

“Where do they want me, F.I.L.S.S.?” North asked, resisting the urge to switch over to the frequency Tex and York had set aside days before for this part of the plan. He wouldn't dare show his hand until he at least had his weapons in hand.

“You are to arm up and move to the forward decks to assist in securing forward equipment storage facilities,” F.I.L.S.S. promptly provided and North winced. Well, it seemed like something had been happening these last few days after all. That was a job that easily could have been handled by sealing bulkheads and putting a large force of ground troops in there, especially since he was positive the Director knew as well as he did that Tex and York were hardly after armor mods. 

For some reason they didn't quite trust him, and North suspected he knew why that was. An asshole in blue armor who had pressed him for information and offered so little himself. Because Carolina wasn't likely to give up something that personal, even in the face of York's escape with Tex. 

Well, that was just going to make this even more entertaining. 

* * * * * *

“Agent North, you are traveling in the wrong direction,” F.I.L.S.S. informed him with all of her usual kindness, mixed with a bit of confusion. “Have you become lost? I can upload a map to your HUD if you require...”

“F.I.L.S.S., I'm well aware of where I'm headed. This may be shocking, but Theta's pretty good at keeping me on the right path. Aren't you, Theta?”

The AI projected himself at the corner of North's vision as he strode down the hall, a sniper rifle leaning on each shoulder and an array of grenades, ammo clips, and other gear stowed away in the proper areas. He'd made sure to clean the armory out of everything he could carry without a bag before heading for the point where Theta's peripheral scans through the ship's systems suggested Tex would be. He was, after all, supposed to be her back-up in this whole plan. York was infiltration and distractions, North was back-up, Texas was team leader, and Four Seven their extraction plan. Now, ready for a serious fight, he was bound to follow his part of the plan. 

“Absolutely.”

“Agent North, forgive me for asking, but... Are you going rogue?” the ship's AI asked, clearly concerned.

“Well, that's not the way I'd describe it, F.I.L.S.S., but I guess that's the way it's going to be seen,” he laughed as he made his way through the halls at a relatively fast clip, but far short of running. He hadn't intended to draw attention to himself this quickly. 

“How... would you describe it then?”

“Righting some glaring wrongs,” North offered. “Theta... Would you do me the honors?”

“Sorry F.I.L.S.S.,” Theta mumbled as his foot kicked bashfully at the empty air. “I'm gonna have to make you stop talking to North now.”

“I'm afraid I don't underst...” 

Her simulated voice faded away quickly, punctuated by a burst of fireworks from Theta.

“You got her, little guy?” North asked as he shifted one of the sniper rifles to the magstrip on his back and threw himself down the corridor a run, heading for the distant room Theta had highlighted on his HUD. 

“She's not going to be able to track you without breaking through some pretty serious encryptions,” Theta confirmed, before flashing out of his vision. _You're good for a while. I'll continue to monitor her systems as best I can. But if we get in a fight..._

_I know, Theta. I'll expect you to break off immediately to help me out. Well, that is if we run into any other Freelancers. My heat and motion trackers will be more than enough for standard crew._

_Are you sure you don't want me to help with those as well? I think I've proved that I'm really good at combat analysis and tactical evaluations._

_I'm not saying you're not, Theta. You more than proved yourself with the shield testing. But I need your full attention on limiting F.I.L.S.S. for me. Right now she's one of the bigger obstacles to our work. That and..._

_Knowing where the real threats are,_ Theta confirmed after a moment. _Okay. But the second I've got a read that another Freelancer is approaching, I'm pulling out to help you._

_Wouldn't ask for anything less. Cover my back that way for now, and we'll deal with the other variables when they come._

_Nic..._

_Yeah, Theta?_

_Be careful._

North laughed as he turned a corner, leveled his sniper rifle and took out three white and gray armored crew members with disabling shots to their legs and arms without so much as a second glance. 

_I promise._

He could feel the way Theta soothed himself in the back corner of his mind, and then turned his attention to the complex calculations and back channels he was using to monitor the activities of the ship's AI. York, he thought, might take a more active interest in what his AI was doing, maybe even help out on the work somehow if he had been in North's position. After all, it wasn't like York specialized in locks alone, he broke into anything, even computers. North, though, knew he was plain and simply a fighter, so he just let Theta take up as much of his neural pathways as the AI thought necessary for his calculations, and let his body to the rest. 

_North..._ Theta said after a moment, and North didn't ask what was wrong. He just let his AI dump the information directly into the forefront of his mind.

“Oh for fuck's sake. We _would_ just have that sort of luck, wouldn't we?”

_Are you going to try and talk her into joining us?_

He had to. As much as North hated it, he had to. 

He'd hate himself if he didn't. 

* * * * * *

_Theta, as soon as you get the door open, I need your full attention. I don't think she's going to be happy to see me._

_You got it,_ Theta agreed, sounding slightly reluctant as the door in front of North finally gave a little hiss and he felt Theta thread himself fully into his nervous system even as he ran full system calibrations on the bubble shield and North unslung the second sniper rifle from his back. 

_Wow, talk about timing,_ North sighed as he was presented with a view of the large chamber before him. The sight of South and Tex facing off wasn't surprising. The missile pod his sister had in her hands was. Who had even given her that thing? When had she been rated for it? Well, it hardly mattered because even as he started forward South flicked a switch and North watched as projectiles launched from the missile pod and began racing toward Texas. 

_Firing solutions, NOW._

They were there before he had the guns up before him, and he could feel Theta in his trigger fingers as he let loose with four shots from each hand. Theta even celebrated in his mind as North watched the missiles explode, each one falling short of Texas thanks to them. North spared himself a moment to smile at Theta's joyful antics before resting the sniper rifles against his shoulders once more and striding further into the room. Texas glanced back over his shoulder at him, and he could hear the status request ping on the frequency they were running this operation on. He let Theta return with an all clear as he stared his sister down.

“Well hello, ladies. What seems to be the problem?” he asked, unable to keep his amusement out of his voice. Damn that had been some good shooting, and Theta was still wordlessly crowing over their marks there. Little guy just loved to show off. 

“North,” his name fell like an accusation from his sister's lips, “you know what the problem is. This _bitch_ stabbed us in the back, and now it's time to return the favor. Whose side are you on, brother?”

For once, he was certain it wasn't hers. That didn't mean he wasn't going to try. With an easy motion he leveled both sniper rifles at South. She wouldn't listen until he knocked her down a few pegs, and he was as certain of that as Theta was. 

“Tex,” he called, not surprised at the slight tightening of his sister's posture at the name, “take a walk. I need to have a little chat with my sister.”

“North?” Theta was the one who noticed the way Tex hesitated over the name, as if she wanted to call him Nic, but he brushed it aside. “You sure?”

“Go,” he ordered, letting Theta reinforce it with the right burst of code over their radio frequency. “This is a family matter.”

Another brief look from Texas and then the black clad Freelancer was darting for a side door and North watched South lift the missile pod once again. 

_Theta, incoming._

South didn't even say anything as the missiles launched, and he didn't pay her much mind as the bubble shield came up and blocked every last one with ease. His eyes instead were on Texas as she disappeared behind the door. 

_“York?”_ he called briefly over the radio. He needed to know, more desperately than he'd realized.

_“Is fine,”_ she came back just as brief. That concern off his shoulders North turned his attention fully to the new barrage of missiles flying his way. 

“You're insane if you think you're going to break through this, Nicky,” he called, feeling the way Theta ran the probabilities on her missile supplies, how the reduced distance and lack of surprise would affect their ability to shoot them out of the air, and just how likely South was to go for a killing shot. 

“You're going to have to come out of there sometime,” she called back, rage filling her voice. He heard the unspoken word. Knew the accusation behind it. 

“I'm pretty sure we've proved that Theta can handle this thing a damn long time if he wants to. But like I said, I'm here for a chat. Surely you can let up long enough for that.”

“Fuck. You.”

Oh well, he'd seen that coming. Besides, the rate of fire calculations were coming through. Time to take this seriously. Knock her down a few pegs first, then talk. It was the only hope to make her see reason. 

_You ready, Theta?_

_Yes._

A simple, terse answer that he could feel in every nerve in his body. A thrumming that made him confident that when he fired he'd hit.

_Alright then. Let's get started._

Two shots, one from each rifle, and the shield flickered just long enough for them to escape. South probably saw something in his resolve in that moment, because she dropped the missile pod and rolled away in time to only have one of the bullets clip her shoulder, but that didn't stop North. The second her grip on the pod released Theta dropped the shield and North tucked himself into a backward roll, moving him a few yards. New position secured the shield came up just as South's hand darted out and a grenade came sailing through the air. It exploded almost immediately upon touching the dome, but the shield protected him completely as South got to her feet and pulled an assault rifle from her back and leveled it at him. 

Another shot with his off-hand, this one meant to scrape the side of her visor—and actually achieving just that thanks to Theta—as South threw herself forward, closing the space between them. She closed at speed, just like their training said one should when faced with a sniper and no cover. North let her do it too. Let fly with another three shots through the flicker of his shield as she tried to unload a whole clip into him, hoping at least one would get through the momentary drops Theta had to use to account for his fire. One round even managed to get lucky, and Theta forced North to side step as it did, moving just enough to dodge the shot before opening the back of the shield quickly to prevent the grisly fate that had befallen the Insurrectionist sniper and his team. Not even their power armor would be able to hold up against the sort of damage a bullet ricocheting that wildly would cause. 

_She's too close for safety,_ Theta announced as North stepped back into position. _If she fires again..._

Then the chances were that a bad ricochet off the outside of the dome would fuck her up. Damn. Well, it had to be done. North dropped both sniper rifles as he gave the order. 

_Execute counter-measure foxtrot on my mark. MARK!_

South was still throwing herself forward, and clearly hadn't expected it to amount to much. They were playing a dangerous game of chicken here, and her intention had obviously been to force him to drop the shield by risking herself. Well, two could play at that game, and North had an edge. He intended to play her game.

Panels of the bubble shield melted away just before South started to squeeze the trigger, and it must have been the shock of the move that kept her from doing it. Or maybe she'd read the situation faster than he would have been willing to give her credit for. Because as the pieces of the shield fitted themselves back into place behind her, South dropped her gun and threw herself at him bodily. 

Neither of them were going to risk a firefight in the middle of this thing. They both knew its capabilities better than that. 

North took half a step back to avoid the punch South aimed for his helmet, easily grabbing her arm as it sailed past and using it and her momentum to send her sailing. When she crashed to the ground South even slid a few extra feet until she hit the edge of the shield, coming to a dead stop with a quiet 'oof.' That didn't keep Nicky down of course. She was on her feet almost instantly, shifting into a melee combat stance, and immediately started to circle him. All by the books, which was a bit strange for her. 

“Why are you doing this, Nic?” she demanded before darting in and trying to duck inside his guard before he could do anything about it. Theta read the movement immediately and North opted to hold still as she landed the punch she aimed for his ribs before he grabbed her arm and tucked it tightly under his own. Then it was the matter of a simple sweep of the foot to upset her balance and have them tumble down together. South, of course, threw him the second they were on the ground, using a twist of her hips and a jerk of her captured arm to throw him over her head and free herself. North chuckled under his breath for half a second while he was stretched on his back on the ground before flipping back to his feet, turning and quickly getting his arms up to block another fist thrown at his head. 

“I could ask the same of you, Nicole,” he countered, taking a few more pointless blows with a simple block of his paired arm guards before swiping at her own head. South just somersaulted out of the way. “You don't believe in Project Freelancer enough to do this. Is it really all about getting an AI?”

“It's about a lot more than that,” she answered, stepping in quickly and high-kicking at his head. He caught the blow inches from his helmet and found himself rewarded with South throwing her body into the air, twisting around, and slamming her heel into the side of his visor with her other foot. He released her and stumbled back a few steps while waiting for his head to clear.

_You okay?_ Theta asked as North shook his head as he felt blood on his tongue. Carefully he probed at the inside of his cheek with his tongue to confirm the bite before smirking to himself. Damn, she could hit hard. 

“It's about honor!” she snapped just before North bull-rushed her and slammed his sister into the floor. Her arms came up to protect her helmet as he slammed his fists repeatedly—and ineffectively—against her meager defense. 

“Bullshit,” he countered, feeling her hips shifting under him and pulling his arms in tight as she lifted and twisted, throwing him to the side. Theta got his arm under him when she sent him flying, and with a single hard push off the ground he turned the unsightly throw into a twisting jump that brought him back to his feet but left his shoulder a tad sore. “It's never been about honor with you, South. It's just about you. It's always about you. If it wasn't, then maybe you would have seen this coming.”

“How the hell do I see my twin brother stabbing me in the back coming?” she demanded, fury in her voice as she flipped to her feet and danced back to the edge of the shield Theta was still actively maintaining. 

_“Head's up, North. About to get a little... Shaky,”_ York's voice echoed in his helmet and North was relieved just to hear it. Barely even paid attention as he sent back a confirmation pulse, though. Turning his attention off of South for that long could be dangerous.

“Maybe if you paid attention to something more than your urge for an AI or scaling the leader boards, you would have seen it in front of you,” North suggested before throwing himself forward. To be honest, he hadn't expected South to put a foot against the shield and use it to throw herself forward with extra force. And were it not for the way the ship suddenly rocked with explosions he might have avoided her. As it was he practically walked straight into her running clothesline, and damn his throat hurt when he toppled over and she pinned him, taking her turn to whale at his head ineffectually. 

“If this isn't about the AIs or mods or that shit, then what is it about?” she demanded, pausing just long enough in her punches for North to grab her shoulders, get his feet under him, and throw her over his head with a buck of his hips. Then he was back on his feet and retreating a bit. 

“About refusing to let the crimes the Director has committed ruin us,” he snapped back, letting Theta read South's posture as she got to her feet. Was it just him or was she slowing down? 

_It isn't just you,_ Theta confirmed. _The change is minor, but..._

“If you haven't noticed, North, we're at war,” she snapped, and it was only then that North noticed where she was. With a simple motion South had her foot under her assault rifle and flipped it into the air. But instead of going for it as a weapon she punched the thing while it was in midair, sending it flying at North. He had no choice but to dodge to the side, giving her plenty of time to ram into him, get her arms around his waist, her head beside them, and with a terrific grunt of exertion he was going over her shoulder and slamming into the floor. Were it not for the armor it would have hurt a lot more when she suplexed him into the hard floor. As it was there was a flare of pain up his back, almost immediately counteracted when the minor medical suite in his armor injected a low dose pain reliever directly into the worst of it.

“And some crimes can't be forgiven, even in a time of war,” he insisted as he twisted out of her grip and stumbled to his feet. After half a second his balance was back and he took his foot and hooked it behind her knee as she started to stand, dragging her back down with a tug. “Where do you think Theta and the other AI fragments come from, South? They're _fragments. Pieces_ of a full smart AI. Do you _know_ how they make those?”

“I couldn't care less,” she snapped, shifting her weight and lashing out with three kicks, high middle, low. North blocked the first two and winced as the third slammed against his knee guard. That was going to hurt later. 

“They tortured an AI, Nicky. A full, thinking, sentient, self-aware _person._ Tortured it until it broke, and harvested those pieces. And I can't let it go on anymore!”

“Doesn't matter,” she continued, punching at his ribs, and he knocked each blow away. She took the push on the last as added momentum as she spun on her heel and tried to slam a back-handed fist into the side of his head. 

“It does. He nearly drove Carolina crazy when he gave her two of those pieces. He _did_ hurt Wash.” North couldn't help it. Even as he ducked her fist he heard his voice break, heard the pain fill his voice for a brief moment. 

“So that's what this is about,” she snapped, contempt back in place as she struck at him with a new string of kicks and punches. He dodged the kicks, caught the punches, and threw her to the side when he caught the final kick. South pushed herself back to her feet after she slammed into the wall of the shield, and for a moment he could hear the pain in her voice, “Your little fuck buddy got hurt and now you're going to take down the big, bad project that did it.”

North froze, taking in the words, and were it not for Theta he would have been standing there dumbly when she threw the haymaker. As it was Theta pulled his head just far enough to the left that it was only a glancing blow across the jaw of his helmet. His ears still rang from the contact, but he didn't fall, only stumbled back a few steps.

“You...”

“Of course I fucking knew,” she snapped, stumbling to regain her own balance before turning and staring at him. He could feel the glare behind her visor. “You've been sending off gay vibes since we were in high school, and the idiot was just your type. Thought you'd be more into York, you've always had a thing for confident pricks, but whatever fucking floats your boat. Wasn't sure until your fucking stunt with York when Wash was implanted, but no one knows you like me, Nic. Figured maybe if I shouted at you long enough you'd get over your stupid failure crush and take this stuff seriously again.”

“That... That was all deliberate,” North couldn't help but observe, unable to keep the wonder out of his voice. “You... Wanted _me_ to fight you when you were spewing that shit in the cafeteria.”

“Only took you forever to figure it out. Figured when I knocked you on your ass they'd understand I was better suited to Theta than you are. Except it was York who had the balls that time, and damn, didn't expect the pounding he gave me. Let me put two and two together, though. Tell me, _Nic,_ does he pound _your_ ass that hard too?”

_She's trying to make you mad,_ Theta observed with the slight detachment that he had whenever North argued with his sister. 

_Yeah. I noticed. And fuck if it isn't working,_ North found himself snarling in the back of his mind at Theta. _Time we stopped playing around._

“You shouldn't have gone there, Nicky,” he said, his voice low and serious. “You should have come to me. Do you have any clue how badly I needed someone other than York to talk to about everything that's been going on? How badly I could have used a _sister_ instead of a spoiled brat furious over losing her chance to have a dangerous, potentially unstable fragment of a _tortured_ human mind stuck in her head?”

“Does it begin to look like I could care? You robbed me of my chance here, North. You and Carolina and Wash. Like hell I'm okay with that.”

_Theta, how much power can you give me to upper armor functions?_

_I don't know if that's a good idea, North... There are incoming hostiles and if I drop the shield..._

_How. Much._

Theta hesitated before a weary sense of acceptance flashed across their joined minds. As much as you need. 

“I used to think I could depend on you, Nicky. No matter what, we could get through anything. That we were better together than we were apart. That we were special somehow. But... I guess I'm just going to have to see what it's like to live my own life for once,” he said, fists clenched tightly at his sides. “Somehow... I think I'm going to get by just fine without you.”

Something in his tone seemed to catch her attention, because South shifted into a full defensive stance. He didn't care. North threw himself forward, swung his arm back, took a final step forward to counter balance as he threw all of his weight into the blow.

_NOW!_

The shield fell and there was just a bit more force and speed in his arm, a bit more counter balance motion from his other arm pulling back and his waist twisting to add more strength to the blow. Her arms came up too late to block, and his fist slammed into the side of South's helmet. And she went flying. 

He didn't spare her a look as he heard her body slam into the far wall and then slide to the ground. Didn't glance when she groaned, or when Theta quietly turned the target marker off on his HUD. He just bent over and gathered up his sniper rifles. 

_“Gonna get floaty,”_ York's voice cut across his speakers as North replaced the clips in his rifles and ran for the distant door, weapons up and ready for the incoming targets his heat and motion trackers were indicating as inbound. 

_“Tex, you need anything?”_ North sent out as he leveled the sniper rifles and took out a pair of Freelancer security personnel without a second thought as they presented themselves through the door.

_“Just get to the extraction point,”_ her voice grit over the radio. _“Both of you.”_

_“You heard the lady,”_ York chuckled, before adding on a more private encryption clearly meant for North alone, _“You okay? D says you had a run-in with your sister.”_

North hesitated for a moment as Theta alerted him to the ship's gravity turning off when he tapped back into the ship AI. 

_“I have no sister.”_

His voice must have been more cold than he'd intended, because York didn't ask the question North knew would be on the tip of his tongue. So North just engaged his grav boots and threw himself forward as Theta calculated the best course to the hanger where Four Seven would be waiting. It was time to secure her location and hold it for the arrival of the other two and their precious cargo. 

* * * * * *

_Five hostiles airborne. Two on the ground with grav boots activated. Friendly force in the cargo hold of extraction vehicle,_ Theta provided as North held himself back at the door of the hanger. 

_Any armed?_

_Two grounded hostiles armed with pistol and battle rifle respectively. Trading fire with friendly force, who is armed with a pistol. She has cover behind a ramp support._

_Entering on my mark. Get targeting solutions on airborne hostiles to compensate for recoil when airborne. Going to take out the ground forces while grav-ed, then the others while throwing myself into the hold. Work for you?_

_Of course. I'll get it done,_ Theta agreed.

_Mark,_ North called to his AI and the door to the hold whooshed open immediately. Two lock down paint rounds, both from a single sniper rifle, were more than enough to immobilize the forces shooting at Four Seven, mostly because they hadn't been expecting him. As soon as the paint hardened North pushed off the ground with the exact force and directionality Theta indicated, and gave part of his control over to Theta. The AI rotated him in the air, bringing him in line for the first two shots, easily made on opposite sides of himself to stabilize his flight, and both hit their marks without a hitch. He was halfway across the room before the other three airborne Freelancer security forces seemed to realize what was going on and started to try and fumble in his direction with their weapons. 

_Twist on a 61.3 by 97 degree vector on my mark. Mark. Two shots with secondary._

The rotational force of the shot sent North spinning just enough for his other arm to line up the sixth shot, which he took without hesitation. He was still flying across the room toward the ramp, and had passed the final security team member. 

_Both barrels here to stabilize and accelerate,_ Theta indicated, moving North's arms into position for him, focused on the final pending victim. He squeezed the hair triggers easily and before he knew it Theta was twisting him around and activating his grav boots. Still, the force he had come in with found North having to bend his knees to absorb the shock as he landed on the wall of the Pelican next to the rungs of the ladder, sending a twinge of pain through the knee South had kicked. Yet North was ground and with a smooth motion he transferred one of the sniper rifles to the back, stepped down to the floor, and shot Lacey a thumbs up before heading to where she was standing.

“Damn, you guys are scary,” she observed as she strode past him toward the cockpit. “No one told me we were going to have this much shit to deal with, but I think I can get us out of here easily enough once the others are here. Can you hold the hanger on your own?”

“Simple,” North assured her with more confidence than he felt, and in a colder tone than he'd intended. 

“Hey, you okay? I expected you to show up with your...”

“Don't ask,” he ordered, taking the cover she had previously been using and ordering Theta to reset the motion trackers to take into account the crates and other flying materials and filter them out of his readouts unless they came to impair a shot or threatened the Pelican. “I'd suggest you start up whatever pre-flight checks you need. Theta's still got a bit of a hold on F.I.L.S.S., so we should be clear from that direction.”

“York's supposed to be the one...” she started to say.

North cut her off with a sharp gesture and a sharper statement that, “York and Delta can take over when they get here. Now move. Tex is likely to come in hot.”

“Fine,” she grumbled as she tromped off to the cockpit and secured herself. 

_Nic, about your sister..._

_Please, Theta, not now. Once we're off the MoI with everyone we can talk about it. But right now I need to hold this hanger and I don't want to try that while seething with rage, okay?_

Theta didn't say anything, just pulled back and returned to his monitoring of F.I.L.S.S. 

North, for what it was worth, switched out his clips once again and turned his attention to the task at hand. It was easier than thinking about the things he really wanted to. 

He stayed there, unthinking, until green flashed across his motion sensors. North smiled as he turned his attention to the distant door of the hanger, ready for what he was certain would be a welcome sight and friendly face. Sure enough the door slid open and revealed a familiar set of light brown armor accented in white, one with a small green point of light hovering over it's shoulder.

_“Impressive,”_ York observed over their comm channel with an appreciative whistle. _“How long it take you to do these poor saps in?”_

_“Theta says about 42 seconds, but I'm certain it had to be less than that,”_ North chuckled back, enjoying the warmth he felt returning to his voice. _“Hey, was it your idea to cut the grav, or Tex's?”_

_“Actually, D's responsible for that little gem,”_ York returned as North watched his lover's body tense across the room before pushing off the ground and throw itself into the weightlessness of the hold.

_“That is not remotely close to an accurate statement, Miles,”_ Delta sighed over the comm channel as York sailed peacefully through the air and North paid attention for any signs of motion beyond him. Not that he didn't trust his lover and Delta, but he was certain he could do a better job of handling things while in null grav than York could. 

_“He blames you for everything, Delta. You should be used to it by now.”_

_“Hey, I'm standing right here you know,”_ York laughed as he somersaulted in mid air and his grav boots activated, letting him lightly touch down on the ramp just in front of North. “You two could at least try not to pick on me.”

“You're an easy target,” North laughed, abandoning the radio as well, only to be cut off as York limped when he moved forward. He was going to ask just what had happened, but then York's arms were around him, his helmeted head resting on North's shoulder. North bit his lip and turned monitoring the feeds over to Theta—who he could sense greater awareness from now that Delta had arrived to take over the need to deal with F.I.L.S.S.—before he wrapped his arm tightly around his lover's shoulders. He even managed to hold back his own hiss of pain from the bruised shoulder he knew was developing from South's wonderful attentions earlier. 

“Missed you,” York mumbled. “Shit, I missed you a lot. Didn't want to leave without...”

“You did what was necessary,” North assured York with a sigh. “I expect you to tell me just why once we're off this ship, but I know you did what you had to.”

“About South...”

“Not now,” North insisted, loosening his grip on York to return the better part of hi attention to monitoring the hanger. “What happened to your leg?”

“Carolina,” York answered stiffly, and it was enough for North to understand that the story was as sensitive of a topic for York as South was for him. “Later?”

“Later,” North promised. 

“Hate to break up your touching little reunion back there, boys, but we've got trouble,” Lacey called from back from the cockpit. “I think you two better strap in.”

“What's going on?” York asked, immediately extracting himself from North's arm and starting forward toward the cockpit

“Um... Things are about to get a little hot.”

“I don't read any incoming hostiles,” North said, confused as he felt a rush of fear from Theta.

“No. I mean hot like... You know... Fire and brimstone? Cause of the MoI sorta starting to crash into a planet? You know, flames with a side of crashy fireball shooting through the atmosphere.”

“Couldn't have had one easy mission,” York groaned. 

_“Tex?”_ York's voice cut through the comm frequency a moment later. _“We've got a problem.”_

_“Yeah. I know. And it's named Carolina. Don't worry, I've got this. Tell Four Seven to go. I'll catch up with you planet-side. I'll use emergency beacon frequencies with encryption Charlie Tango when I'm ready for a pick-up. If you don't hear from me in two hours, book it.”_

North didn't need to see York's face to know the tension in his body. They needed Tex. Not just to complete this mission, but for the next phase of the plan. For David.

“She'll make it,” York grumbled as North sat down and pulled the safety harness down over himself. “She's just like that.”

“Yeah,” North readily agreed. “Still...”

“Still, be ready to haul your ass up top to shield us if it's needed. I hope Theta can throw the shield out large enough.” York agreed before calling forward. “Lacey, I'm sending Delta up. We need to get off now. Any calculations you need he'll handle.”

“Roger,” she called back, and North watched as York lowered himself into a seat across from him and pulled down his own safety harness. He even watched as York crossed his arms over his chest and lowered his head. His heart skipped a beat to see York like that. Neither of them had ever given full control of their nervous system over to their AI to improve calculation speeds. It was risky, they both knew it, and yet York was willing to do it without hesitation. It was something North had never considered, and was suddenly certain he'd never be able to pull off.

It scared North more than he was willing to admit. But York was doing what he had to do for all their sakes. North hated it, but it was what his lover had to do. 

“Hold on to your hats, gentlemen, this ride is going to get a bit bumpy.”

He just hoped they came out of this alive and intact. 

Physically and mentally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to scheduling constraints the next chapter may not arrive until Monday at the earliest. Sunday is a VERY slight possibility. Sorry. Life beckons.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was wrong as to when I'd get a chance to write again. Surprise.

In all of his time since joining Project Freelancer, York had never felt this alone. There had always been at least North there in the beginning. After that it had been North and Wash. When one of them was out on a mission he had the other, or whatever other Freelancers were left hanging around the MoI. The only exception to having another Freelancer around was after the incident that had ruined his left eye. Then he'd been rushed to Angel on My Shoulder and he'd been relatively alone. Granted there had been a whole nursing staff to oversee him so 'alone' had been a relative term.

Day three of waiting in the hold of a Pelican for their time to strike... That was a different experience altogether. Three days with his only contact being the AI in the back of his head and Tex in the cockpit, quietly contemplating something that he didn't dare ask about. 

There were really only so many times he could inspect his shotgun, run calibrations on his tactile nanomesh gloves, and flip through the mounds of information Delta had archived from what C.T. had given Tex. It was easier than wondering how North was doing back on the MoI, whether there was any fallout for him because the man known as his best friend had escaped, or because Carolina had spilled the beans on just what they were to each other. And it was a hundred times better than wondering just how Wash was doing after so long of being... well, wherever he was. 

“York,” Tex called, and he stirred himself from the roll of cloth posing as a blanket that he'd taken from the Pelican's basic stores and rolled out on the floor to pose as a bed. “I need you and Delta up here.”

“Is it time?” he asked as he advanced into the front, putting his helmet on as he went. Finally there was going to be something to do. Or another awkward conversation with Tex. Really, he was hoping for the former. 

“I've got a read on a supply Pelican inbound for the MoI,” Tex agreed as York clambered up into the gunner's seat. “You ready for this?”

“Of course,” Delta answered as he appeared with a green flash on Tex's console. This part of the plan had been laid out since the beginning, and they all knew it relied on Delta more than anyone else. For that reason the AI had been running massive quantities of calculations through York's head for days and all but driving York up the wall with it. But a lot of planning had to do into the steps that would get them quietly back on board the MoI, so York hadn't begrudged his AI the need to run them.

No, he only hated the fact that he could recite the probabilities on the success or failure of their plan with an ease that only bespoke Delta's concern... And need to exhaust all variables he could fathom. Which, it turned out, were a lot. 

If he never saw a risk factor calculation again in his life York would be a happy man.

“If you would just give me all the information you have on the inbound Pelican,” Delta continued, and York crossed his arms over his chest, let his head fall forward, and gave the whole of his mind over to Delta.

_I hope this works,_ he told his AI as he opened more of his mental functions to Delta's use. The Director and Counselor had referenced the possibility of passing a greater percentage of the brain over to an AI for higher level calculations at greater speed, but they had always had a warning on that sort of connection. The word 'theoretically' had been in those brief classroom references more than York had really liked. But Delta had insisted. He needed more processing power and speed to do something as complex as broadcasting a unique string of code over their channels to first disable the other Pelican's communication and drive systems, then spoof the IFF codes well enough for the MoI to see them as a supply ship rather than their recent escapees. Plus he had to be able to give Delta enough force to wipe any records of their landing from F.I.L.S.S.'s systems so they could even get into position to start the greater task.

_I am relatively certain that no damage will occur to your mental facilities, Miles,_ Delta assured him, his voice echoing in York's ears and mixing interestingly with the garbled discussion Delta was having aloud with Tex. 

_Which would be great and all that if I hadn't actually been there when you were running probabilities on what this could do to me. Did you have to figure out if any potential neurological damage would somehow impair my... manly functions?_

_That particular calculation was an attempt to amuse you._

_Your results were_ inconclusive, _D. How was_ that _going to make it any better?_

He felt a shrug from the AI. Well, that was as far as that conversation was going to go then. With a deep breath York closed his eyes, cleared his mind as best he could, and let Delta take over more completely than he ever had before in their relatively short partnership. 

He didn't even give himself the chance to pray, and he didn't bother to remind Delta to keep him breathing and his heart beating. He had to hope the AI wouldn't think to touch those areas of his brain.

* * * * * *

York came back to himself with the sensation of a hand on his shoulder. His eyes opened, his head came up, and he glanced ahead of him to find the view through the forward window of the Pelican had changed substantially. They were no longer surrounded by the vastness of space, but the far more limited vastness of a secondary hanger of the MoI. Well, apparently one part of the plan had gone well enough.

_My task was completed successfully, Miles, with no damage rendered to your nervous system that I can determine at this juncture,_ Delta informed him as the phantom sensation at his shoulder faded. _Might I add that in the process I managed to discover a novel way to stimulate nerves across your body?_

_Congratulations D, you managed to find yourself a new way to annoy me in the future,_ York observed as he watched Texas move into the hold and threw himself out of his seat to join her. The next phase required them to take control of the hold quickly and quietly. _You ready for F.I.L.S.S.?_

_I already have exerted enough control over her internal sensor systems that we are perfectly safe. Provided you and Tex do not shoot a vital system we will be able to take the hanger without notice. Please, do try to avoid drawing attention to us._

_Of course,_ York mumbled back as he moved into the hanger and gave himself half a second to stretch before raising his hand. Tex read the motion immediately and threw the shotgun she had been handling toward him, followed by a full box of ammo. Wonderful. He loaded up, stowed the rest of the cartridges in ammo pockets around his armor, and then took the pair of sticky grenades she threw him as well. 

“We ready for this?” he asked as he watched Tex load every last magstrip on her armor with spike grenades. He didn't want to be the poor saps who got in her way. 

“Switch to operation frequency now,” she said instead of answering, and York just sighed as he followed her toward the ramp of the Pelican, watching her check the ammo on a battle rifle. 

“Yes sir,” York grumbled as he manually set his motion trackers and prepared for their entrance in style. 

_“I've got ten in the hanger,”_ Tex said over the radio. _“If any of them get off an alarm, we're pretty much screwed.”_

“Yeah, Tex, I was actually aware of that,” York snapped back out loud because fuck using the radios so early. “Delta says we're in the clear with F.I.L.S.S. provided we don't damage any ship systems, so... Let's not go the full on smash and grab route if we can avoid it.”

_“Use your radio, cockbite.”_

“When we're far enough away from each other to justify it,” York answered, smirking in his helmet. “I mean, if North is having Theta monitor this frequency, it would be a shame to ruin the surprise or get him found out by tipping his hand too early.”

If looks could kill, York was certain he would have died from whatever one Tex was shooting him when she turned her head toward him, and that despite both of their helmets being in the way. As it was York just smiled when the motion tracker flipped into active mode and Delta triggered the ramp mechanism. 

Time to start the party.

Tex had three of the crew down before the ramp had opened even half-way, and York added another two to her number almost immediately. Once the ramp was at a low enough angle to walk across Tex strode out onto it despite its continued motion, raised the battle rifle again, and took quick shots that took out another four. York was left with the last man who was staring at them in shock, hand poised halfway in its journey to the radio unit on his shoulder. He almost winced at the spray of red that came when the shotgun blast took the kid fully in the chest. 

_They will be shooting to kill you,_ Delta pointed out as York followed Tex off the Pelican and across the hanger. 

_They've done nothing wrong but back a bad man, York countered in annoyance, and they don't even realize it._

_Lockdown paint does not last long, and you cannot afford the time it would take to switch out to live ammunition should you encounter a hostile Freelancer._

Which was precisely why he'd opted for live ammo, but that didn't make the decision, the taking of relatively innocent lives, any easier. 

“Has Delta figured out which access points he wants to use?” Tex asked as they reached the hanger door, taking up a point to one side with her back pressed up against the wall. It was a breaching maneuver and as much as York hated the way the connotation hit him, he pressed up against the other side, waiting for her to open the door so they could check the corridor for hostile forces. 

_Uploading map to Tex now,_ Delta helpfully provided, though York could tell his AI wasn't fully focused on him. This... Was not going to be fun. With Delta focused on keeping them out of the ship AI's sight, he was also limiting his usefulness to York as compensation for his impaired eye. Which meant having to trust Tex to cover his blind spot more than he was really comfortable with. 

“Received. You ready for this, Miles?”

Plus, he didn't like hearing his name in her voice for some reason. 

“Ready,” he said anyway, tightening his grip on the shotgun. 

“We move on my mark. Mark.”

* * * * * *

There was, honestly, no reason the alarm should have tripped. None. It wasn't even a hololock, which was what he had been expecting. He'd been drilling on hololocks since the end of his suspension, practiced them with Delta synced into his mind and without, and dammit he'd been good at them before he'd left. 

Why couldn't the Director at least have had the respect to use a fucking hololock?

“Intruder alert. Intruder alert. Breach in security. Level zero,” F.I.L.S.S. announced while the lights in the corridor flickered red and the alarms screamed and Tex shot him this look that promised she was going to pound his head in later. 

“Great job, York,” she grumbled as he focused on trying to shut the alarms off. Dammit why couldn't it have been a hololock?

“I swear this never happens to me,” he came back, frowning at the system.

_It seems likely that the Director had a security overhaul after our departure, and wrote traps into the system code to account for your presence,_ Delta suggested, and York hated the AI for probably being right. 

“I'm sure you say that to all the ladies.”

“Seriously, I'm way better at this than it seems,” York insisted, still trying to shut the system up, and getting stopped at every turn. Fucking hell, Delta was right. The asshole had trapped the system, just for him. Fuck, he should have thought about that possibility. The Director and Counselor knew just what he was capable of, just how he would approach a lock like this, and left fucking landmines in the system. 

If he hadn't wanted to punch them before, York definitely did now. 

“Look, we don't have much time,” Tex sighed, stepping forward. York had just enough warning to start backing away before she literally pushed him away from the lock, wound up, and punched the door so hard it dented. 

_Remind me not to get on her bad side, D._

_Noted._

The damaged door slid open and Tex just strode right through, barely stopping long enough to give him orders over her shoulder. “I need you to find a way to distract them for me. Be careful.”

“Gotcha. What about you?” he asked, already knowing what her answer would be. 

“There's someone I need to see.”

With that Texas strode off through the room, leaving York standing there, watching her go. 

_What now, Miles?_ Delta asked as he stared after Tex. 

_Well... I guess we make a few distractions. Dive back in to F.I.L.S.S. and keep me appraised of troop movements. Try to tag the other Freelancers and keep me aware of their motions._

_Um, Miles, I am not sure that this is the best time to make mention of this fact, but there is no data regarding the positioning of Agent Florida. Either he is off the records for some reason..._

_Which is worrying in its own way,_ York admitted as he bit the inside of his lip.

_Or he isn't on the Mother of Invention._

_And everyone else?_

_South seems to be making straight for Tex's projected path, North is on his way to the armory, Maine is prowling through the lower levels, Carolina is making her way to a lift from the bridge and Wyoming... Ah, it appears Wyoming is headed for us. I believe he has been given charge of cornering us._

_Great, sounds just wonderful,_ York groaned as he brought up the map Delta was tracking everything on. _Problem is, he's between me and anything that is big enough to create the kinds of distractions Tex might want. Any ideas?_

_I believe the most prudent course of action would be to take him out._

_I couldn't have said it better myself. D, we're gonna get close enough to draw him after us, and then find a way to ambush him. Sound good?_

_That will mean allowing some information as to our location filter through F.I.L.S.S._

_Exactly. And I think this is precisely where we want to do it,_ he said, mentally indicating the Freelancer locker room. 

_Air vents again?_

_Air vents again._

_I will begin leaking information. I would suggest prompt action._

_One last thing, D... Can you filter our use of the mission frequency?_

_Filter how?_

_I want to be able to speak to North alone._

_Ah... Yes. That should be possible. Would you like to record a message for me to transmit when I have finished encrypting?_

York thought for a long moment before nodding. 

_“Give 'em hell for me, North.”_

* * * * * *

He didn't need Delta's read-outs to know things were going according to plan. He did need them to see that South was practically on top of Tex which was all kinds of wrong, and that North was heading rather quickly for the two ladies, but he didn't need it to know that Wyoming was falling for the trap like... well, like something that fell for traps. Still, York was pretty sure he would appreciate it more if Wyoming just hurried the hell up. 

_The cautious approach is really the right choice for him to make right now,_ Delta insisted as York resisted the urge to shift around and try to get more comfortable in the vent. There was no such thing as comfortable in the vents in full power armor, and that was something he hated having personal knowledge of. Life was so much less complicated when he wasn't lying in wait for someone who could maybe tangentially be called a friend so he could knock his lights out. 

_D... You're supposed to be on my side._

There was the sound of three sets of boots, and York found himself holding his breath for half a moment before he let it go. No one would hear him breathing in his armor since Delta had turned off his mic. Still, he didn't like this plan for all that it had been his and was the right way to go with things. Three on one wasn't fair... Normally it wasn't fair for the one, but York was pretty sure that this time it was going to be far harder on the three. 

“Dude, we get to fight with Wyoming! Awesome!” a voice echoed through the room and York couldn't help but groan in pity.

“Just clear the room, lads,” Wyoming answered, and York could hear the annoyance in his voice. 

The footsteps were closer now, and York finally got a read on the three from his motion sensors as they stopped just outside of the entrance to the locker room and two voices declared it all clear. 

He did have to resist the urge to laugh when Wyoming sighed and dryly observed, “Dear god, it's like idiots in stereo.”

They were finally in his actual sight, and York watched as the three spread out, with one of the poor rank and file soldiers cheerfully giggling and declaring Wyoming's comment to be a, “Nice zinger, sir!”

“Kiss-ass,” the other commented, and York was right there with him. No one liked a kiss-ass.

“Shut up.”

“Look over there,” Wyoming instructed kiss-ass, and followed the other just under and past the grate York was hiding in. Really, did they have to give it to him so easily? “Now, where are you hiding? Knock, knock mate.”

Okay, now that was too perfect a set up for York to pass on. He pushed the grate open and threw himself forward as one of the grunts asked, “Wait, who's there?”

York hit the ground rolling, and it was nothing at all to catch himself on his right leg, listen to Delta's locating ping, and sweep out with his left to take the grunt off his feet. 

“It's York!” the kid shouted as he flew through the air, and York just raised the shotgun and let off a single blast. It was almost amusing the way the other soldier had run up and managed to get in just the right position for his friend's body to fly through the air, smack him in the chest, and knock him out as York stood, pumping his shotgun as he twisted to face Wyoming.

“Knock knock!” he said as he shot at Wyoming, who immediately ducked, reached under the edge of a bench, and flipped it up at him. Fuck, should have made sure Wyoming wasn't so close to that. Of course he only had a moment to regret that before the thing smacked into his shoulder, knocked the shotgun from his hands, and made him stumble back a step. 

“Ah yes, that what I'm saying, who's there?” Wyoming asked as he pulled his pistol and started shooting, at York's blind side of course. Still, Wyoming had never been as good at close range fire, and with Delta running in the back of his mind it was simple enough for York to duck under his arm, circle behind the other man at speed, and punch him as hard as he could in the back. 

Wyoming stumbled away from him, pistol dropped, and York didn't stop, couldn't stop there. Giving Wyoming time to close, giving him time to let Gamma get into the fight, was something he couldn't afford, even one on one. 

_Locker,_ Delta suggested as Wyoming started to regain his balance, and York moved immediately to an opened door. 

“It's York,” he growled as he slammed the locker open, banging the door as hard as he could against Wyoming's helmet. The other agent stumbled back as something caught his eye in the locker.

_I hardly think this is an appropriate time,_ Delta chided him as York took a quick glimpse at the torn magazine pages of bikini clad women lining the sides of... what the hell, South's armor locker?

“Hello,” he said more to himself than Wyoming or Delta. Mark that as filed away for future use. Or maybe not. South would likely try to pound his head in if he mentioned it. 

Of course the moment of inattention was all Wyoming needed to regain himself. 

_Proximity warning!_ Delta flashed on his helmet.

“Who's there?” Wyoming insisted as he lunged in with a fist aimed for York's head. The warning was enough for York to duck to the side, twist, and punch Wyoming in the back again, sending him stumbling forward toward the damaged armor bin.

“I told you!” he shouted in annoyance. When was Wyoming going to let that stupid joke go? “It's York!”

_I would suggest rapidly bringing this confrontation to a close,_ Delta warned him. _My readings indicate that South has engaged Tex, and North is about to enter that fray. They will likely be in need of a distraction post haste._

_I get that,_ York answered as he grabbed South's locker, ripped it off its bolts with a little extra help from Delta shifting more power to the upper body of his armor, and lifted it over his head. 

Wyoming turned around to face him and his head and fists came up just as York found his balance and turned toward the white clad Freelancer. “It's York... Who?”

The shock in his voice, the way his fists started to come down, the way that York just knew Wyoming's eyes had to be widening behind his visor was almost priceless. York allowed himself half a second to appreciate it before shifting his weight back, balancing on a single foot for a moment, and then throwing his weight forward, driving the locker straight at the other Freelancer's head with all his might. The way the locker took Wyoming in the head, slammed him into the damaged armor bin, and then thudded down to cover the rest of his body was priceless. Literally priceless. 

“It's York catch, asshole,” he chuckled to himself, and reached almost unthinkingly for a piece of paper that fluttered by his head. It was one of the better pictures from South's locker. Damn, the girl had taste. 

He just couldn't help but wonder if both of the twins had something for brunettes given what he was seeing. “Talk about knock knocks,” he observed before stuffing the picture into an empty ammo compartment. He'd have to wave this in South's face later on the Pelican when North dragged her on board.

_I do not see why you are so interested in that photograph, Miles._

_It's less about the picture, and more what the picture's presence implies,_ York provided as he retrieved his shotgun and then made his way out of the locker room. His HUD displayed his position relative to the command room he had always intended to make for. _What's the read on the fight the ladies are having?_

_Nic has entered the room, and combat seems to have temporarily halted. Ah, it appears that Tex is leaving the room. And..._

Delta was cut off by a familiar voice on the radio. _“York?”_

The way the concern in Nic's voice came across made him want to call out, but before he could Tex was responding for him.

_“Is fine,”_ was all she said, and then the dots on York's mini-map seemed to indicate Tex was running for another hall. 

_It appears the fight is about to resume,_ Delta warned before York could open his mouth. _Distracting Nic at this juncture might be dangerous for him._

“Hey York!” Tex's voice called through the radio again, this time sounding a bit concerned.

_What has she gotten herself into now?_

_There is a tank in the cargo bay Tex must pass through on her way to the command deck._

_Fuck._

_“I could use that distraction right about now!”_

Good thing he was already striding into the secondary firing command room. And, as luck would have it, no one was present. 

_“Read you loud and clear, Tex. One distraction comin' right up,”_ he confirmed as he strode up to a firing control read out. _Delta... Gonna need a little help here._

_Of course._

_“York! Make it a big one!”_ she insisted after half a second and York felt Delta leap into his fingers, the AI's attention off of hiding them from F.I.L.S.S. for a moment. 

_“Hey, relax. It's me,”_ he told her as he let his fingers fall to the keyboard and felt Delta acting through them, hacking quickly through layer after layer of firewall. Damn, if C.T. had been implanted with Delta, she likely would have had all the information she'd given to Texas far faster than she had managed. Still, it wasn't like it was an easy process, and York felt the minutes tick past as Delta worked and his HUD informed him that Maine had changed his movements to make for his location. Now there was a fight he wanted absolutely nothing to do with.

_I do not think I would have bowed to Agent Connecticut's desires as readily as I find myself listening you yours, Miles,_ Delta admitted just as the keyboard went from green to red. _Shall I set the targets?_

_Yeah, nothing vital to operations or near us. I'd hate to have this all go to shit because we managed to decompress a compartment we were in._

_I will be careful._

_“Head's up, North. About to get a little... Shaky,”_ York called over the radio as his finger hit the fire button. It was all he had time for because Maine's reading was getting too close. 

_Need an exit strategy, D..._

_There is another ventilation shaft just..._

_You're fucking kidding me,_ York groaned, but he didn't hesitate to throw himself at it, jumping on top of a centralized computer bank and whacking it open with the butt of his shotgun. _One of these days we're not going to use these damn things to get around, and damn it's going to shock_ everyone.

_I... Am not sure I understand the source of your annoyance,_ Delta admitted as York hauled himself up and into the vent. Yeah, Maine would totally know where he had gone, but a guy that big had no chance of following him. 

_I'm a big guy, Delta. I like to fit comfortably in places, not have to squeeze through them._

_Forgive me for the following statement which shall provide nothing important to the conversation but... Is that not what he said?_

York actually froze, his feet still dangling over the edge of the vent as he hadn't started to scoot forward yet. Had Delta really just...? No, that wasn't possible, was it?

_D, did you just make a sex joke?_

_I do believe that was what I was endeavoring to accomplish._

_Damn... You guys really are getting more human. We definitely need to talk about that later. For now, get me a route to the generators. I have a feeling Tex isn't going to be happy with that little display. She always wants bigger and better._

Delta didn't jump at the opening, but York didn't mind. There would be plenty of time for him to corrupt Delta's logical little mind if they survived this.

* * * * * *

“Still hate those vents,” York complained yet again as he kicked the next grate off and dropped into the corridor. 

_Complaining, I find, will fail to achieve us anything,_ Delta commented as York felt him update the locations of the other Freelancers on his HUD. Tex was still in the cargo bay, and the small feed Delta was running in the corner of his vision—hacked from F.I.L.S.S.'s systems of course—told him all he needed to know. Even badasses could get into some serious trouble. North, on the other hand, was an unknown quantity. Apparently South's fucking around with a missile pod had managed to blow out the cameras in the room at some point, and so all he had was Delta's assurance that North would be okay.

Didn't keep him from worrying. 

“Hello!” he said with a smile as he straightened from the crouch he'd fallen into in his escape from the vents and looked at the sign before him. “What do we have here?”

_The ship's main grav generator._

_That was a rhetorical question, D,_ he sighed as trotted down the ramp toward the generator. 

“This looks important,” he said conversationally, earning a sense of displeasure from Delta.

_I know what it is, geez,_ he thought as he came to a rest by the generator's main control panel. “Hey Delta... I think we could get in a lotta trouble in here.”

The AI immediately shone to life by his head and York turned to look at his little friend with a smirk.

“I think we are already in a lot of trouble, York,” Delta countered.

“Hmm... Let's test that theory,” he said before switching to the radio to call North, _“Gonna get floaty.”_

With that he turned his hands to the control panel and let Delta guide his fingers through the process of disengaging the gravity generator. It was almost mind-bogglingly simple to do. Three keystrokes and new sirens added themselves to the ones constant in the background.

_“Tex, you need anything?”_ North's voice came after the grav went, and as it did Delta updated the HUD to disable the flashing lilac light that had been South. 

_“Just get to the extraction point,”_ Tex grit over the radio. _“Both of you.”_

_“You heard the lady,”_ York chuckled as Delta plotted an escape route and he pushed off the control panel with his hands to get himself moving in the right direction. No vents for him now. Between his grav boots and Delta's recent experience with navigating him through strange situations with them, he was certain he could handle just about anything he found. Still, he did switch over to the more encrypted radio broadcast to specifically call out to North, _“You okay? D says you had a run-in with your sister.”_

There was a moment of silence in which Delta navigated them to the wall of the corridor, activated the grav boots, and wordlessly pointed York toward the lift that would get him in the general direction of the hanger where Four Seven Niner was supposed to wait for them. 

Then there was North's voice, colder than he'd ever heard it before, and with a clear edge of bitterness, _“I have no sister.”_

It was a harsh statement, a painful one when punctuated with the way that Delta had simply removed South from the HUD. Yet when he reached into the awareness of the AI, and through him F.I.L.S.S., he found South's armor indicating she was alive, if injured. 

The question had to be asked, and was even on the tip of his tongue. He would have asked it too were it not for the proximity alert flashing to life on his HUD, punctuated by the pale blue dot rapidly approaching the same elevator Delta had him on course for.

_We should change our approach vector,_ Delta warned.

_No, D... This is something I have to do. I have to try and..._

_And what?_

_Make her come with us. Make her see how fucked up this all is. She doesn't belong here any more than the rest of us do. I... Have to try._

He'd hate himself if he didn't.

_The lift will arrive in 4.2 seconds. Are you sure?_

There was a hiss of air as it stopped and North stepped into the darkness at the edge of the lift.

_I'm sure._

“Carolina...”

The aqua-clad Freelancer went from a light crouch when she touched down to an aggressive stance, plasma rifles in hand and pointed straight at him. That didn't stop York. He strode forward as quickly as the grav boots would allow, shotgun in his hands just in case, but pointedly not aimed at her. Prepared but not aggressive was the image he had to present when she was clearly as ready for a fight as she seemed to be. 

“Let's not do this,” he said, and was almost disgusted by how much like pleading it sounded. He didn't want her to think he was afraid, just to make it clear that he didn't want this fight. “It doesn't have to be this way.”

“What are you doing here? Why are you helping _her_?!” Carolina demanded, her voice strained and betrayed. Fuck

“It's not about her. It's about Wash. About me trying to do the right thing... You should too.”

He thought there was maybe, just for a second, hesitation. But no, Carolina barreled right on, her voice high and angry. “I am doing the right thing! I'm not deserting. She just wants your AI, York. She already went after Wyoming.”

“Is that what they told you?” he gaped, genuinely shocked. There was no way Tex had done that. She didn't care about the fragments, just saving the Alpha. Besides, Wyoming would have said something, wouldn't he? Or he would have been in recovery if Tex had really intended to do what Carolina claimed. York knew better than a lot of them just what it was like to be on Tex's bad side, and if she had wanted the AI fragment, Wyoming wouldn't have been walking. 

“I'm going to stop her,” Carolina declared as the lift started to move once more, taking them down toward the level York's readout told him Tex was on. “I have to.”

“You don't have to prove anything,” he insisted, moving forward and transferring his shotgun to the magstrip on his back. Dammit why was she so stubborn? Why did she let herself get so blinded by rage when it involved Tex? Why couldn't she be the same, caring friend who had come to him in the locker room to tell him he'd been fucking up his relationship with North? Why wouldn't she let him do the same? “Come on! Let's leave this place. We can get you help. We can get those damn things outta your head!” A long breath to deal with the way Delta bristled at being referred to as a thing before the AI agreed that Eta and Iota probably would be better off separated. “You can trust me.”

“Maybe,” Carolina returned, and York swallowed hard as one of the plasma rifles all but pressed up against his helmet. This wasn't going well. “But you can't trust me.”

_Warning..._ Delta called in his mind, reading Carolina's aggression. Funny, York had already noticed that part. What was it with Delta and not giving him more warning when the women around him had decided to go after him in one way or another?

York was already moving. He had no other choice. 

Step forward, inside her guard. Left arm up. Press gun up and away. Continue forward. Right arm up. Hand on wrist. Pull toward him. Ignore plasma rifle floating by. Step in with right foot. Pivot. Both arms free. 

Fights with Carolina were always a series of moments. Freeze frames moving from one to the next. It had been that way since the first fight, and every one since. It as only way he could fight her without getting distracted.

Pivot on right foot. Defensive posture while planting left. Right arm up and around her left. Left hand hook around the waist of her armor. Twist your arms, your waist, pull down, let go. She cartwheels through the air. Other plasma rifle gone.

There was less than half a second to breathe

She gets her feet under her almost immediately. Moves in; they both do. She pushes off the floor. Her left foot up. Bring up your arms. Have to guard. Too late. Kick to the shoulder. You're off of one foot, balance ruined. Flail to regain. Her other leg up. Another blow, this one centered on your chest. She's tucking and rolling back in the air. You flailing for balance. Only the grav boots save you. She hits the wall. Grav boots catch. She's running after the lift.

Damn she was always so good. So much better than him. One rank, and a world of difference.

She pushes off wall, rolls, comes to her feet. You get yours under you. Just enough to stabilize. Her right arm swings forward, left back, forward leg tenses. Another kick, telegraphed. Right foot out. Your leg raises, blocks the knee kick. She jumps, shifts weight, telegraphs again. Left leg up, waist level. Bring your hands to that side. Catch at the ankle. Shift again, right leg this time. Head level kick. Block with right hand. 

Carolina always had it all, the speed, accuracy, and determination. She would throw three punches for every one he had ever been able to throw at her. The problem now was that moment where he was off-balance. He knew with all of his being that that was when the narrow hope had shifted in her favor. Since that moment she was action, he was reaction. That never ended well. He had to try and reclaim it.

Her right leg comes down with her body. Lift your left to avoid her crushing the instep. Put it down just in time to lean back. Avoid the left cross kick. Pant. Lean forward. Right arm up as her left leg raises again. Down and to the side to block the next kick. She redirects. Leans her body forward, flexes around. Left arm up to block. 

Flexibility had also a strong point for her. And stamina. Not even ten seconds into the fight and here he was panting with her all but unfazed.

She's still on a single foot. Twists her raised leg around. Goes for his blind spot. He gets his arms up for that. She withdraws. Delta warns. Not soon enough. A foot thrust into his chest. Slight upward motion. Enough to overcome the boots. He's in the air, arcing away from her. 

The fight was already over, and he knew it. Delta was already busy projecting how much damage the armor was going to receive from the coming blow.

Plants her left foot. Twists her whole body for momentum and force. Right leg up. Around. Over. Heel drop to the back of his helmet. Ears ring. Ring worse when he hits the lift hard. Momentum redirected upward when he bounces. 

“Carolina,” he gasped out around the pain and the ringing in his head and the hopelessness. 

Reaches out an arm. She isn't done. 

Plants her right, whirls. Mule kick with her left before he can get his hands up to block. Hits him full in the stomach and Delta warns about the potential for cracked ribs. He can't breathe. Floating up. Darkness at the corners of his vision. 

_Emergency medical subroutines activated. Please, Miles, stay conscious._

Must have failed. Opens his eyes to see an open lighter sailing toward him. Red cap, silver body, yellow logo. 

Errera. She kept it. All this time she had kept it.

There weren't any words for the pain in his chest as he reached for it, closed his hand around it, clenched it tightly in his fist. 

_Miles, we must continue to the evacuation point. This is no time to..._

_I could have loved her,_ he cut Delta off, flicking the lighter open and closed. 

_I... am unsure what that has to do with our situation._

_In another time, in another life, in another story... I could have loved her, D._

No response came from Delta, and for that York was thankful. 

It took everything he had to not think about how it had only taken twelve seconds. 

* * * * * *

_“Impressive,”_ he said, punctuating it with a whistle, as he looked at the hanger bay that North had clearly handled a while before. More than that, it was sort of show-offish. Leave it to North to opt for paint rounds at a time like this. But man, he would have paid to have seen how North had torn through this place. _“How long did it take you to do these poor saps in?”_

_“Theta says about 42 seconds...”_

Thirty more than Carolina had needed with him. 

_“...but I'm certain it had to be less than that,”_ North came back with a warm chuckle that somehow seemed to soothe away York's aches far better than the painkillers running through his system did. Except he could keep North's voice for a while. Delta would have to turn off the painkillers when he used York's head to try and keep their Pelican from being shot down by the MoI. Delta had already warned him that the painkillers messed with his neural pathways too much to be acceptable during such important computations as would be needed for surviving a potential missile salvo. 

_“Hey,”_ North continued, voice still beautifully warm, _“was it your idea to cut the grav, or Tex's?”_

_“Actually, D's responsible for that little gem,”_ York lied as he bunched his legs up, pushed himself hard off the floor, and disengaged his grav boots. Now all he had to do was get into the Pelican and help North hold this room. 

_“That is not remotely close to an accurate statement, Miles,”_ Delta contradicted him immediately. 

_“He blames you for everything, Delta. You should be used to it by now,”_ North openly laughed as York flipped in the air so he would be coming at the ramp with his feet and not his head. 

_“Hey, I'm standing right here you know,”_ he announced just as his grav boots came back on and he touched down lightly on the ramp in front of the familiar and welcome sight of North's purple and green armor. 

“You two could at least try not to pick on me,” he added off the radio as he smiled as the sight of his lover, alive and well. 

“You're an easy target,” North teased, and that was enough to break his reserve. York found himself stumbling forward, all but crashing into North. His arms wrapped tightly around his lover's chest and he rested his head against North's shoulder. As he did so he could feel Delta drift further from his mind, off to do something regarding F.I.L.S.S., but he didn't care. His entire attention was on North. 

The one who was still there. The one who loved him. The one who...

“Missed you,” he mumbled rather than letting his thoughts continue down that path. “Shit, I missed you a lot. Didn't want to leave without...” 

“You did what was necessary,” North sighed, and he could hear the question there, but he didn't care. “I expect you to tell me just why once we're off this ship, but I know you did what you had to.”

Except for the parts he had tried and failed on.

“About South...” It was far easier to focus on the lack of the lilac armored twin than to think about the person _he'd_ failed to bring along.

“Not now,” North insisted, and York felt his arms loosening around him. Damn. “What happened to your leg?”

“Carolina,” was his own stiff response. “Later?”

“Later.”

“Hate to break up your touching little reunion there, boys, but we've got trouble,” Lacey's voice called from the cockpit, and York felt his stomach tense at those words. They didn't need any more problems right now. 

Still, he found that he'd already pulled himself from North's slack grip and he'd started forward, so there was no point in not asking. “What's going on?”

“Um... Things are about to get a little hot,” she said in a way that made the pit of his stomach fall out, made only worse by the flash of fear and concern from Delta. Shit. 

“I don't read any incoming hostiles,” North said as York reached further into Delta's awareness and found the problem.

Seriously, how had they managed to find a planet to hurtle themselves at?

“No. I mean hot like... You know... Fire and brimstone? Cause of the MoI sorta starting to crash into a planet? You know, flames with a side of crashy fireball shooting through the atmosphere.”

“Couldn't have had one easy mission,” York groaned before switching to his radio. _“Tex? We've got a problem.”_

_“Yeah. I know. And it's named Carolina.”_

He actually managed to ignore the pain in his chest and the way his breath hitched and his fingers itched toward the ammo pouch holding the lighter. That being said, he didn't manage to keep his body from growing rigid at the announcement. Carolina was going to get herself killed like this. Dammit he'd failed her just like he'd failed Wash...

_“Don't worry, I've got this. Tell Four Seven to go. I'll catch up with you planet-side. I'll use emergency beacon frequencies with encryption Charlie Tango when I'm ready for a pick-up. If you don't hear from me in two hours, book it.”_

“She'll make it,” York found himself saying, his fists clenched at his sides. “She's just like that.”

The problem was that he wasn't entirely sure which of them he was talking about. 

“Yeah. Still...” North started to say, and it was only then that York noticed his partner was sitting down with the safety harness pulled over himself.

“Still, be ready to haul your ass up top to shield us if it's needed. I hope Theta can throw the shield out large enough.” With that he turned his attention toward the cockpit. “Lacey, I'm sending Delta up. We need to get off now. Any calculations you need, he'll handle.”

She might have responded, but York didn't hear it. His mind was too focused as he sat down across from North and pulled the safety harness into place. For the second time in a day he bowed his head and crossed his arms over his chest. He took a few deep breaths as he closed his eyes and willed his mind to a blank slate. Delta was going to need all the processing space he could get. 

* * * * * *

Again he woke to a touch at his shoulder. This time when York looked up North—stripped down to only his undersuit—was standing at his side, concern writ deeply on his face. 

“Hey,” North greeted him, voice low and filled with concern. 

“I don't recommend that,” York responded, noting the time readout on his HUD. Had he really been out for two hours? Shit, Delta hadn't used him that long last time. “What's been happening? Did we get Tex? Alpha? Wash's coordinates?”

It would have been easy, too easy at this moment in time, to reach into Delta and _know._ To have crystal clear records of everything that had happened since the moment he had given himself over to the AI. He didn't. It was too important to hold himself separate from Delta right after something so stupid as what he'd done. Too easy to lose himself in the numbers and calculations and lack of pain. 

“We got her and the coordinates. She's up front, sans Alpha,” North informed him, but there was an edge to his voice that made York hold his breath. There was something worse going on. Had to be. “The Mother of Invention crashed pretty hard on the planet. In the process Tex and Carolina were thrown from the bridge where they'd been fighting. Tex... Says when she came to Maine was there. He...”

The images came unbidden. A flash of red hair when Carolina's helmet was ripped off. Blood on the snow. An aqua armored body dropped unceremoniously over the edge. 

They stopped as abruptly as they came.

_Forgive me,_ Delta whispered, honest to god whispered. _Omega... Has been broadcasting that at us all since we picked up Tex. He found the whole thing... amusing. I should have been more careful to protect you from..._

York tore off his helmet and leaned against North's unarmored chest and let himself cry.


	17. Chapter 17

Washington had grown to dislike the color white. Not that it had taken too much effort with just how over abundant the color was around him. If there was a way to be bathed entirely in a color, Wash was on the verge of that with white. From the walls to the ceiling to the floor and right down to the bed that had been recovered with the sheets sewn into place this time. 

The thing was, he didn't _hate_ the color white. The way it was being misused here was headache inducing, the monotony it invested in the world around him was frustrating, and there was nothing he wanted to do more than get a box of paints and splash them around the room, though he knew he'd feel guilty about it later. He didn't _hate_ the color white. At this point he was coming to reserve that dubious honor for a different color entirely. 

After all, white was the color of his captivity, but the color of his captors was decidedly _blue._

Blue in the phantom light of Epsilon out of the corner of his vision when he wasn't expecting it. Blue in the color of Abernathy's eyes. Blue in the ever-present and menacing force that was Florida.

Since the brief visit of the Director, Wash could barely turn around without seeing Agent Florida.

_His arm was a tangle of lines and feeds when his eyes fluttered open. They were the first thing he saw. A nutrient IV, which implied he had been out longer than he would have liked. A sedative line. Another one with medication that he read the name of off of the bag it lead to, and the part of him that was and wasn't Epsilon immediately returned that it was an anti-seizure medication. That, at least, explained something._

_None of it explained the helmeted Freelancer sitting in a plastic chair at the side of his bed. The one that was staring pointedly down at him, seeming to wait for something. Florida... The very thought of the other man sent a fearful tremor down Wash's spine, because he knew. Dear god did he know._

_He held very, very still as Florida moved forward and held down his arm at a point halfway between his wrist and elbow. Watched as slowly, delicately, Florida removed line after line, letting little points of blood well up on Wash's arm until he had them all out. Then a few pieces of gauze were retrieved from somewhere and pressed firmly on the small points of blood._

_“Morning, sleepy-head,” Florida had cheerfully greeted him. “You gave us all quite a scare.”_

_Wash swallowed his fear, met Florida's attention as levelly as he could. Another secret he didn't dare let slip._

_There were few people who survived knowing what he did about one Butch Flowers._

_Very suddenly Wash found himself regretting embracing everything Epsilon had left him._

They wouldn't give him a break from the presence of Agent Florida. Every morning Florida was the one who came in—not the orderlies—with his breakfast. Florida shared lunch with him, then lingered for the interviews with Abernathy. The blue clad Freelancer would disappear for a few hours then, leaving Wash alone until dinner, where he returned with the door hissing open.

He was always cheerful. Always pleasant. Always a perfectly reasonable person and considerate toward Washington and his 'delicate situation.' He prompted Wash for stories about his lovers as any close friend might, and was never offended when he was rebuffed. Florida offered to see about getting him a fuzzy blanket to add to the bed, something in a 'more appropriate color' to give him a break from the drab. The implication was always there, though, in the knitting Florida was working on at meals. It was always a stretch of tan bordering on golden-brown, and a deep, rich purple. 

Hell, Florida had even offered to help him keep in shape when Wash had redonned his armor after the medical equipment had been hurried away after he had awoke. Maybe he had read Wash's armoring as a protective measure, maybe an attempt to hide things, or maybe he just sat back and smiled because Wash was acting like a Freelancer for all that he still insisted on being treated like a civilian. 

Wash had taken Florida up on the offer on the second day back on his feet. It was the first time the two of them had matched each other since beta group had joined alpha. His body remembered how Florida fought back then, how easily he could dominate the older Freelancer. Yet his mind could remember watching video feeds of Flowers at work and he had to keep himself from reacting to how good he now _knew_ Florida to be. Florida hadn't seemed to care either way, and had displayed the skill he never hinted at as a Freelancer, taking and pinning Wash in three moves. 

They both knew it was a quiet way of Florida telling him just who was in control. And as much as Wash hated to admit it, it wasn't him. 

Neither of them had commented on how easily Florida had taken him. Didn't talk about how easy it would be for Florida to take one of those knitting needles and jam it through Wash's throat if he hadn't taken to wearing the nanomesh undersuit, and how he could probably still do it then. 

They kept to safer topics. Memories of beta training from Wash. Veiled references to Wash's polygamous relationship from Florida. Discussions on how bets had played out on the Mother of Invention. Never the Director. Never Epsilon.

Never the fact that Wash spent the better part of his day cooped up in a room with one of the most deadly assassins Earth and the Sol System colonies knew. 

The tell-tale hiss of the door found Wash twisting his head from the ceiling toward the door, catching the familiar and loathed flash of blue that was Florida striding into the room with dinner. Abernathy had already come and gone for the day, his morning pummeling from Florida was long since over, and any semblance of privacy he would get until he begged for privacy for his evening shower was abandoned as Wash pushed himself off the bed.

“You're in for quite a treat this evening, Wash,” Florida greeted him as he crossed to the table and deposited his heavily laden tray. They always sent enough for three now, and Florida did quite well at putting away what Wash didn't touch. “Apparently they got in a shipment of apples and made a pie just for us! Hope you like apples.”

They both knew he did, and Wash didn't bother to point that out as he pushed himself off the bed. As an after thought he thumbed the clasps on his helmet and tossed it to the bed. There was no point to bringing it over for now. He couldn't eat in it, and Florida always got so offended when he tried. Yet he stood back and watched, as he always did, until Florida removed his own helmet and positively beamed at him with pleasure. 

“Any fruit juice?” Wash asked as he moved to join Florida at the table, pretending he was completely fine with the fact that the man he was going to share the meal with was a murderer.

Not that Wash's hands were entirely clean, especially considering what he'd learned from the shattered and scattered pieces of Epsilon in his mind. But the innocent blood on his hands he hadn't knowingly spilled. Florida...

His record had nearing a hundred confirmed kills under the name of Butch Flowers alone, and another sixty-two suspected kills before one even _began_ to consider the aliases he was suspected of using. His preferred method was up close and personal kills, ranging from the simple knife across the throat to the more elegant poison tipped needle jabbed into the base of the skull, to actual strangulation. Apparently he was quite open to suggestions from his clients, and took a strange pleasure in spending time on more relaxed assignments growing close to his target, friendly even, before killing them. 

Alpha and the Director had never been completely certain how the infamous Butch Flowers had become a member of Project Freelancer. They had never actively recruited the assassin. Apparently Flowers had just appeared in the Director's private quarters on the Mother of Invention three days before the alpha group had been brought to the ship, dropped a file on his chest while he lay in bed, and called it his 'resume for acceptance into your interesting little program.' 

The woman who had originally been recruited for the designation of Florida never arrived for training. Nor had her body been found. According to the most recent records Epsilon had she had just mysteriously dropped off the face of the colony she had been stationed at a week before Flowers had invaded the Director's room. Alpha posited that the woman had been a target of the assassin for one reason or another, and while cleaning up after himself Flowers had found the letter from the Director regarding her transfer, and he had looked into the project himself using whatever contacts he had to have in the UNSC. Something had motivated Flowers to join them, and the file he had provided had been too impressive for the Director to pass on. 

From there it hadn't taken much effort for Florida to become the eyes and ears of the Director among the Freelancers. 

Eyes and ears alarmingly turned toward him, the one with the most dangerous secrets. 

“Yeah, I got you grape,” Florida happily announced as he pointed toward the plastic box on the edge of the tray. “I know you don't like it, but apparently it's really easy to ship, so I guess we'll have to deal with it.”

Wash forced a smile as he sat and evaluated the meal before him. Watery beef stew, crumbling bread, salad he'd only been given a spork for—forks had become a 'sometimes' utensil after Florida had appeared—a bowl of fruit salad, and a plate of mashed potatoes. Were it not for the fact that everything was present in abundant quantities Wash might have rolled his eyes. As it was he knew he would at least be full when it was over. 

“I thought you said something about pie,” Wash accused him as he moved to pour some grape juice into one of his paper cups. “I don't see...”

“You can't have your dessert until you've finished your dinner,” Florida chided him with a brief wave of a buttery spoon. Amazing how Florida managed to make it look almost threatening before he returned his attention to buttering a slice of the crumbling bread. “I asked them to leave it covered just outside the door. I'll bring it in when you've eaten enough.”

“I don't need another nurse, Florida,” he sighed as he leaned back in his chair to down half the cup of juice. If nothing else he had to give the Project this: he got far more regular amounts of genuine fruit products than he'd ever had as a UNSC recruit or on half the colonies his parents had been stationed on. 

“Not being a nurse. Being a friend. Friends don't let friends eat dessert first.”

“York and North never told me that,” Wash offered, and as he expected Florida's eyes moved from his bread buttering to Wash's face. Of course the look he was given was one of friendly interest, and not one of a man spying on him, but really, how could he be sure of the difference?

“Well, lovers _are_ supposed to spoil you,” Florida countered with a smile that made him look like a man eager for a juicy piece of gossip rather than some lever he could use against Wash. “Especially when you're younger than them.”

“I guess,” Wash agreed before refilling his cup and taking one of the large plastic bowls filled with stew for himself. “But I don't think I'm _that_ much younger than them.”

It was a lie, plain and simple. He knew exactly how much younger he was than Miles and Nic down to the day. He hadn't known before, none of them had really thought of their birthdays as important events anymore. But Alpha had known their personnel files forward and backward with his eyes closed, and Epsilon had known because Alpha had known, and Wash knew because Epsilon had. Everyone's personnel files were up there in his head, and he knew them down to the last punctuation marks. Only Maine's and Florida's had substantial gaps in them. And sometimes the levels of detail in them were terrifying.

Honestly, he now knew more about Miles Cunningham and Nicolas Howe since waking with Florida over him than he had ever thought to learn. Maybe the dossiers hadn't mentioned that Miles couldn't resist a heist movie or that Nic's favorite color was the shade of purple the mountains near his home turned at sunset, but they listed things he should have known. Miles was allergic to pineapple. Nic was a very capable motorcyclist. They even knew the secrets the other two wouldn't tell him. Like how York had gotten the burn that dominated the better part of his right calf, or the fact that Nic's mother had abandoned their family shortly after the twins were born, leaving them to be raised by their father alone. 

“Oh come on now, you had to _guess_ ,” Florida pressed with a smile. “I mean, York's already showing his age with all those wrinkles on his forehead.”

“It was just sex,” Wash insisted, the same line he'd been feeding Florida for two days when he had realized it was pointless to deny it out of hand anymore. Florida had offered too many details, to many tidbits, for Wash not to concede sex with the older Freelancers. Still, he was trying to keep them from being used against him, or the other way around. 

They both knew it was an empty ploy. Wash's reaction to Florida's original question had been too angry, too passionate, too impulsive for a casual fling. 

Florida was at least polite enough to let him pretend he hadn't done that. 

“Speaking of... Come on, Wash, you've got to tell me _something_.”

“I really don't,” Wash disagreed before scooping a spoonful of stew into his mouth to dodge the question. 

Florida smiles and it was the same smile as on the tape _with a middle-aged, dark haired man standing over a body. His hands hang loosely at his sides as he looks down. Then the man twists around, looks directly at the camera. His expression is utterly blank, utterly unmoved by the garroting the camera had caught moments earlier, by the struggle of the woman on the floor who had tried so hard to live. Then, suddenly it was there. A wide smile with the faintest suggestion of teeth. Eyes squeezing toward closed in pleasure. A hand comes up and fingers wiggle a cheerful little wave. A full ten seconds of that before the other hand quickly comes up and under the black formal coat—they'd been out on a date together, a nice charity ball that he'd chosen a three piece suit for—and there was a gun in his hand. The video turned to static nanoseconds after the trigger was squeezed, fingers still wiggling._

Wash hid his shock with another spoonful of stew and a careful schooling of his expression. The flashes were less common since his 'attack.' Since he had welcomed the fragments of Epsilon into himself. He could still feel them there, just under the surface of his thoughts, begging to jump out at him. All he had to do was press for some piece of information and they were there, as detailed as ever, but somehow distant. Information waiting to be accessed, yet rarely overwhelming him. It was different, still strange, and all around more pleasant than the random flashes. Yes, he had to struggle to sort the information he wanted out from the mass of memories that now filled his head, and the dreams were worse than ever before, but it was easier to exist from sleep to sleep. 

That didn't make the flashes that he got any less disturbing. 

“What's with that face?” Florida asked, concern in his voice. 

“Not enough pepper. Pass the shaker?” Wash covered, and Florida stayed cheerful when he did as he asked.

Florida pretended not to think Washington was lying, and Wash pretended not to read that awareness in the flash in Florida's eyes. 

It was all very polite and civil.

And insanely dangerous.

* * * * * *

Nights were routines in their own right. Florida swept out after cheerfully bidding him good night, dinner tray in his hands and his knitting tucked under his arm. Their conversations would have played out hours before and Florida would play at teaching Wash how to knit or the proper way to set a table, or discuss the finer points of one piece of artillery over another. In the end Wash would beg off and insist that he needed to shower, and Florida would nod and treat the statement as if it was Wash saying good night rather than dismissing him to gain something very tangentially resembling privacy. 

Showers were when Wash let himself cry. The fact that it had never been brought up in any 'therapy' sessions suggested the bathroom wasn't monitored as closely as everywhere else, but Wash didn't run that risk without caution. He tilted his head up into the stream of water, let it wash over his face, and kept his breathing as even as possible while he wept. Wept for what might happen to Miles. For Nic being abandoned on the Mother of Invention to the will of the Director. For the fact that he'd given up hope on leaving this place. For Alpha and the AI fragments. For the pain of a broken man who had lost his wife to the military and then sold his soul to try and call her back from beyond death. For the poor little red haired girl who had grown up into steel and ice because her mother had died, her father had all but abandoned her, and her only chance to be close to him was to follow his painful dream and still never be appreciated. 

He cried because both of Wyoming's parents had been killed in the glassing of a colony, and he'd only survived because they had forced him onto an escape shuttle that couldn't carry them. He cried for Utah's failed bubble shield and Georgia's pointless death to jetpacks that could have been better tested. He cried for the echo of a soldier who had already given her life and had been dragged back to do it again. Cried for C.T. trying to save them all and him being too stupid to see it. For the scar on South's cheek put there when a boy at her school had tried to force himself on her and how she had never told her brother and had never been the same since. 

He wept for Arizona and the Virginias and Rhode who had all tried so hard and had been doomed from the start. 

He wept for the AI fragment who had, for just a brief moment, been a part of him and had settled warmly into the open welcome and joy he had greeted it with before it had broken under the weight of the memories it bore.

When he turned the shower off the tears stopped as well.

Wash hated to sleep with wet hair so the next step was always sitting himself down at the table with the stack of paper and mechanical pencil they had given him after waking to Florida. He wrote letters every night. Letters to the nice old lady who had lived down the block from him when he was growing up and let him play with her pet cats. Letters to the corporal he'd met during basic training who had happily taken his kitten back to her boyfriend when he'd received the letter informing him of his redeployment to a planet far away from the front lines. A letter to York telling him about other movies he remembered from his childhood. A letter to his parents who he hadn't seen in years and wouldn't again. There was always a letter for North about inconsequential things. One for Maine with other kinds of candy he remembered and thought the man might enjoy treating his not-so-secret sweet-tooth to. A letter to Carolina asking her to look out for the others. Another for Wyoming with all the worst knock-knock jokes he could come up with. His letter to South usually turned into cursing just because she always told him curses from him sounded like a puppy trying to howl and so made her laugh.

He stayed there long past when his hair dried, writing letter after letter until his arm almost felt like it wanted to fall off. When he was done he would shred them and leave them in a confetti pile on the table. It was petulance more than anything else. None of them would ever be sent on, and he was certain they were reading each and every one. Which of course meant he made someone miserable every morning when the pile of scraps was delivered and ordered to be put together. Still, he did it every night, and every morning when he woke there was a fresh pile of paper, a new mechanical pencil, and no comments. 

At least he had managed to confirm that they pumped something into the air while he slept so they could tend to his room. 

After that he moved to the bed, stripped his armor off, and turned to whatever book he was working on. At the moment it was some silly hopeful science fiction story now, about a human empire that dominated the galaxy rather than fighting tooth and nail to avoid extinction. 

He read to the point of exhaustion, until his body screamed it needed sleep. Then and only then Wash gave himself over to the dreams. To the flashes of Allison and Leonard and Charlotte. To the torture of Alpha that replayed in his mind every single night. To memories of his body tangled together with those of Miles and Nic. To every last second of Epsilon's memory and his own, arranging and rearranging themselves in his head, trying to find places to fit, trying to find ways to fit together.

Every night his head tore itself apart and put itself together again anew.

The human mind wasn't supposed to be able to access so many memories. There was a reason humans had evolved to forget. Since Epsilon, David had been denied that peace. And still he'd managed to repress so much. 

Maybe he'd made a mistake in accepting Epsilon into himself, in finally embracing the fact that this jumble of man and machine and echo of a man and memory of a shadow were what he had become. Maybe it hadn't stabilized him. Maybe he'd finally gone insane. Because every single night his mind tore itself apart and glued itself back together into a new monster he had to spend his first waking hours sorting out, and it hurt. 

And somehow, despite everything, he still couldn't find it in him to hate Epsilon.

Even the part of him that was Epsilon was certain it would have been easier if he could.


	18. Chapter 18

“What happened with South?”

North didn't respond right away. Instead he stared up at the ceiling of the cargo hold and focused on everything that wasn't the question hanging in the air. He let his mind get caught up in the pattern of rivets that kept the metal plating secure to the frame of the ship. He focused on the tingling that was starting to develop in his arm from resting his head on it so long. He let his attention be held by the faintly warm press of York against his side, the weight of his partner's head on his chest, the way his hair fluttered whenever North's chest would rise and fall. Thought about the way that York's hair didn't stand up quite so well in the front without the touch of hair gel York used every morning. 

He thought about the piles of tan and purple armor stowed away in an overhead compartment. 

He thought about the quiet mumble of Tex and Lacey's voices up in the cockpit as they discussed their destination and what they might have to do to break in. 

He thought about how much better it would be if he were still on the Mother of Invention, stretched out on his bed with York on one side of him and Wash on the other, both of them using him as a pillow and affectionately bickering back and forth like they were prone to doing. 

_Nic, he asked you a question,_ Theta observed, and North sighed at his AI. 

_I know. Do... You mind if I talk to Miles alone about this?_

It was easy to sense the way the request upset Theta. Part of him didn't care. The greater part understood the concern of the AI. They hadn't been separate from each other since what they had learned happened to the Alpha. Theta hadn't been able to handle the truth of what they had learned, and it hadn't been easy for North either. But what York was asking was... something else entirely. A personal sort of pain. One he honestly didn't want to share with York.

Except he'd been here with York for hours. It had taken nearly a full hour to get York out of his seat and armor to make him more comfortable. Since then York had been dozing on and off next to him on the so called blanket North had pulled down from one of the overhead compartments. It was their attempt at comfort, at normality, their personal little lie that was easier than the reality they were pointedly distancing themselves from. 

The reality that every time York closed his eyes for more than a few moments he started shaking. That he would groan and plead and whimper 'Carolina' under his breath. 

There was nothing in the world North wanted to talk less about right now than his sister.

“I ever tell you that Nicky wasn't always the angry bitch we had the pleasure of working with?” 

“You're kidding,” York said, his voice just on the edge of calm like it had been too many times since Omega's little stunt had taken his lover unprepared. “I can't imagine her as anything but...”

“I'm not saying she was ever roses and sunshine or anything like that. Nicky was always a bit crass, a bit mean, and about ten different kinds of crazy,” North continued, relaxing as he felt Theta fade away from his conscious thoughts. “Life... Wasn't easy for us. Dad was a great guy and he would have done anything for us, but there is only so far he could go in his mission to stand in for our mother. Nicky... Never really played well with the other girls at her school, and was even worse with the boys. She didn't want anyone telling her what to do, and...”

He could remember the stitches on her cheek when Dad had brought her home from the emergency room, and the hard look in her eyes. 

“I used to really want to act. When I was in middle school I joined my school's drama club. Nicky... Nicky didn't want to and they wouldn't have wanted her anyway. So she was alone that day since I was at rehearsal, walking home, when a guy from the high school up the road cornered her, alone.”

Even without Theta he could pinpoint the exact moment when York figured out where the story was going. It was in the way York went very still and very quiet next to him, the way the hand that had been resting on his chest with splayed fingers suddenly tightened into a fist. 

“Jackass had a knife on him. Nicky came out of it with the scar on her cheek and the militant disposition you know her for. Last I heard, and this was years ago mind you, the guy was still in the coma. His family couldn't let him go. She... Never told me what had happened. Had this bullshit story about trying to jump a fence, then falling and cutting her cheek open. Thing is, I believed her at first. Later Dad pulled me aside and made me swear to watch out for her. To do everything I could to keep her safe. Even then it wasn't until high school that the full implications of it all hit me.”

“Nic,” York whispered, “you shouldn't be telling me...”

“Truth is, I don't think Nicky ever looked at me quite the same way after that. Sure, we had our issues before, but they were different after Dad brought her home from the ER. And yet, for all of that, I couldn't stop trying to do what he asked of me. When Nicky announced she was joining the UNSC after graduation, I enlisted as well. We went to basic together, and she seemed to hold that against me. We were deployed together after, and she didn't like that one bit. We had a shit-ass sexist CO who promoted me over her as squad leader when ours died, even though everyone knew Nicky was better at demanding and receiving the obedience of our fellows. But we were good together, natural in a way that few people are in a fight.

“We were never allowed to be transferred separately. Just like a squad of SPARTAN-IIs, we were a package deal. Where one went the other went as well. Hell, there was even one unit we were stationed with that didn't have the proper allotment of tents and we were expected to share. So when we got our reassignment to Project Freelancer, we both knew what we were wanted for. For a time, Nicky went out of her way to prove she was better than me. That she could handle things on her own. But they still kept us as a unit. She hated being 'the Dakotas' so much.”

York nodded against his chest as North took a deep breath. 

“Then came the incident at the Cryogenics Facility. Suddenly all her hard work is thrown out the window and I was ranked above her. The Director didn't send her on the Sarcophagus mission, denying her the chance to gain that spot back. Then the AIs started happening and...”

“And Theta,” York provided, and North nodded. That was part of the reason he didn't want Theta piggybacking in his head when he tried to explain this all to York. “I don't think she ever stopped hating me over him.”

They were silent for a while, and North turned his attention back to the ceiling once more. 

“North... I know we're clearly having a very serious moment here, and I don't want to ruin it,” York said, propping himself up on his elbow to look down into North's eyes, “but I was asking about what happened during the...”

“I don't know exactly the moment when it happened, but at some point, Nicky stopped trusting me, York. She stopped being my sister and started to act like a rival. And somehow, I didn't notice it. I wasn't even looking. She kept moving further and further away, turned to me less, and it's only now that I realize that I lost her long ago. We used to be able to talk. And instead it got to the point where she tried to get _me_ to fight her by insulting Wash. That fight you had with her, that was meant for me.”

York's eyes had gone wide, his face slack with disbelief. “But you two were...”

“She guessed I was interesting in Wash a while ago. Figured I was sleeping with him when we went stupid...”

That got a curse from York, and a brief mumble about 'who the fuck didn't figure it out?' 

“When we were fighting, she told me she didn't care where the AI fragments came from. She didn't care what they did to Carolina and Wash. She didn't even give a fuck that I was upset over Wash. She was hoping I would get over him with him out of sight. But it was worse than that. She wanted _me_ in that fight, York. Wanted to lay me out on the floor and prove to the Director that she was the one who should have had Theta. Instead of a supportive sister I had a person I trusted ready to stab me in the back so she could steal an AI fragment who would have been broken by her.”

“Nic...”

“She told me that when you challenged her she knew about us. I told her how badly I needed a sister, a friend during everything that was going on. Someone I could turn to beyond you. She scoffed and blamed me for her not being _higher_ in the program. For her not having an AI. Honestly, I'm pretty sure that if she'd taken me down in that fight, she would have demanded Theta as her prize. She would have broken me and given me over to the psychopath that is the Director, and she _wouldn't have looked back_.”

It was only when he stopped and listened to the silence—absolute except for the background noises of the Pelican itself—that he realized he'd raised his voice. There was a brief flash of York's eyes and when North followed them he noted the imposing form of Tex leaning against the open door to the cockpit. 

“I didn't mean to barge in on the conversation, but you were kinda shouting at the end there,” Tex said with a sigh and a shake of her still helmeted head. “I just wanted to say... We all left someone important to us behind through no will of our own.”

“Except my failure got Carolina...”

“That wasn't your fault,” Tex snapped at York, striding further into the hold until she was all but standing over the two of them. “No more than what happened with South was Nic's. Or my failure to rescue Alpha was mine.”

North watched as York pushed himself into a full seated position, and slowly followed, luring Theta back into his head as he did so. The AI sent him a concerned little ping, and North responded with every ounce of warmth he could coax out of himself for Theta. Still, he didn't turn his attention from Tex as she shook her head and turned away from them, moving to sit down across the hold from them. 

_I wonder why she never takes off her armor,_ Theta nervously sent at him.

_Some people feel exposed without it,_ North tried to explain, knowing Theta wasn't going to understand. After all, Theta only knew North's own experiences, and North had been quite comfortable out of his armor since his relationship with Miles had started. _I know York has felt more comfortable with his helmet on than not since he got injured._

_But Tex... We've_ never _seen her without her armor._

It was a strange point, but one North couldn't argue with. He'd seen everyone without at least _some_ piece on at least once. Never Tex, though. 

“Maybe Carolina was my fault too,” Tex continued with a sigh. “If I'd just gotten up sooner...”

“Okay, so I feel comfortable saying that only one of us can reasonably take the blame for what happened to Carolina, and I don't think it's you,” York countered, and North could feel his lover bristling at Tex. 

“You weren't there when...” she began, only to be cut off by York coming angrily to his feet. 

“No, I wasn't. But I was there before that. I tried to stop her from going after you at all, Tex. The way she went after you from day one was... Unhealthy.”

Tex huffed a dry little chuckle at that, shaking her head. “Guess it runs in the family. Listen, York, I'm not sure anything you could have said would have kept her from going after me. It isn't in her blood to abandon stuff like that. The fact that you tried is laudable. But the truth of the matter is that the source of all of this, the loss of the people we cared about, that isn't at any of our feet. It's at _his_.”

No one had to ask for clarification. Still, North pushed himself to his feet long enough to shift into one of the chairs he'd been all but lying under a moment ago, and openly frowned at Tex. 

“You're going to put all of this on the Director? I'm sorry, Tex, I know he's done a lot and should be tried for his crimes, but that might be going too...” North started to say, only to be cut off by the way Tex's attention snapped to him. 

“Do you want to know why I didn't bring Alpha out with me? It was because they broke him into so many tiny little pieces, took so much from him, that he couldn't even remember his _designation,_ much less his name. It's hard enough to rip an AI so fully integrated into a system out of said system when they're whole. It isn't _too_ bad when they're willing. But do you know how hard it would be to tear an AI from a mainframe when it doesn't even know which way is up anymore?”

_The memories were gone,_ Theta whispered softly in North's head, and there was a lot of pain in those words. Maybe it was because of the pity Theta inherently had for his origin and what had happened to create him, and maybe it was because of the way North felt his own stomach roll a bit at the implications of Tex's words. Seems like Delta's observation that night in the classroom might not have been far off. 

“So you failed one of the core objectives of our mission because you were too distracted knocking Carolina around to free the Alpha,” York accused, his fists clenched at his sides. 

North, though, watched. Watched with all the intensity that Theta was capable of, as Tex's hands came up. As her fingers brushed the locks on her helmet just before her hands lifted it away. 

_Sister._

The word was more a pitying sensation in the back of his head than any real statement from Theta, and North could see Delta's echo of it in York staggering back a step, something similar to the sudden dizziness in his own head. Below that there was something more, though, something in him that wanted to keen in agony at the straw blonde hair and the hazel eyes that flirted toward green. 

“I would have done _anything_ to get Alpha out of there without destroying him,” Tex swore, and there was a fire in the words that didn't make it to her eyes. “There is a whole hell of a lot you don't understand about the circumstances surrounding Alpha. A lot that I only barely understand. But I know why you both look half sick from seeing my face. I _know_ what happens when someone utters my name around an AI fragment.”

It wasn't his stomach that was rolling around so much as Theta. The AI was flitting from one place to another in his brain in confusion, trying to understand what he was seeing, what he was hearing through North. At the same time North found himself staggered by what Theta was feeding him. The way Theta observed that her skin was too perfectly smooth, her eyes a touch too glassy, her hair too immaculate for all that it had been under a helmet for who knew how long. 

“What are you?” York gasped out for him, stumbling back at last to sit next to North. His hand immediately reached for Nic's, and Nic didn't hesitate to tangle Miles's trembling fingers with his own. 

“Something that never should have existed. But I do, and so I'm trying to clean up the mess the Director made in my name,” Tex said with a weariness in her voice that Nic couldn't explain. 

“I don't understand,” Miles admitted as Nic squeezed his fingers. “In your name?”

“Maybe not mine exactly, but something close. But I suppose that is behind us. There's still a lot for me to do, and I'll find a way to achieve it all in time. For now, though, I swore to help you save Washington. And... to be honest? I think he has some of the answers I'm seeking.”

“Answers?” North asked, staring hard at her strangely lifeless eyes and shushing Theta every time the AI seemed to get antsy again. “To what question?”

There was a flash of something like pain and confusion in Tex's eyes when her gaze met his, and her voice was just a whisper when she spoke. “Why am I here?”

Theta crooned in wordless sympathy as Tex pushed out of her seat and started back toward the cockpit, her helmet tucked under her arm. Of course the conversation couldn't just end there. Tex took a moment to pointedly restore her helmet before glancing back over her shoulder at them, her voice level once more. 

“Lacey's run a few rough calculations and we should make the ship where they're keeping Wash in a few hours. I know we're all tired after what's happened, but we might not get a better chance at this. The Director may already have sent a warning ahead of us. I'll need you both ready for action when we get there, chances are we'll have to run hot. I'll be back in an hour for a planning session. See that you're ready.”

Then she was beyond the hatch and the door was sliding closed behind her, leaving Nic alone with Miles and the anxiety of his AI. 

“What was that?” he couldn't help but ask as he squeezed Miles's hand once more. 

“That,” Miles huffed as he moved further back in the seat and then let himself slide down to rest his head on Nic's shoulder, “would be Beta. Or so Delta believes”

There was an answering surge from Theta, all the confirmation Nic needed, and yet he still stared down at Miles's head in shock. “You mean... the AI behind all those classified and encrypted files? We've been working with an independent AI fragment this whole time?”

“More like having our asses handed to us by an independent AI fragment,” York groaned, his hand reaching up to brush over the scars around his left eye. “Fuck, Carolina was screwed right from the beginning. Never even knew what she was chasing.”

“None of us could have,” North tried to reassure him, though he wasn't sure how likely that was, with the conversation turned to Carolina once more. 

“All of this, and she died because of not one, but four of the AI fragments,” Miles sighed, and something in his voice made Nic feel his lover had somehow come a step closer to being 'okay.' “Dammit, D, Theta, not to offend you or anything, but you guys have one messed up family.”


	19. Chapter 19

“You want us to _what?!_ ”

“Beta was only saying...” 

“Stop calling me that,” Tex growled under her breath, and while York wanted to shy away from the fury in her voice, Delta seemed quite immune to noticing the anger that he had turned on them. Of course, it wasn't like Delta's emotional reactions were very noticeable in his holoprojected form. Still, York couldn't even feel the slightest thread of concern from his AI, just a faint sense of annoyance. 

“Excuse me. Tex was only saying that the most viable entrance scenario would be...”

“I fucking heard her Delta,” York snapped, and from the flash of a smile he caught North in and the way that Theta shuffled back and forth in mid-air he was at least amusing them. “I'm mostly just trying to fathom the insanity of her suggestion.”

“It isn't insane, just difficult,” Tex said, crossing her arms over her chest. York just tilted his head and narrowed his eyes slightly at her, earning him a laugh half a breath long. “Okay, so maybe it's a bit insane as well, but it's what we've got.”

“Or, you know, we could do something that doesn't rely on pinpoint timing and accuracy from the _only_ member of our little force who _doesn't_ have a powerful computer grafted directly into their nervous system,” York growled. When he saw Lacey stiffen he sighed, “No offense.”

“None taken,” she said after a moment of thought, a smirk washing over her face. “I could easily get you all killed with this.”

“At least _someone_ realizes that!” York groaned. “Come on, Nic, tell her just how crazy this is...”

“Actually,” Theta piped up almost immediately, “it sounds like a lot of fun.”

“And Tex has a point,” North added after a moment. “They aren't just going to let Lacey fly us in to their hangar, they'll probably even shoot at her. Seeing as all our gear and supplies are here, preserving this Pelican seems like our best bet. We need to secure the hangar for her.”

“This plan has the highest chance of success when considered together with our ultimate objectives,” Delta readily agreed.

“Looks like you're out voted, York,” Tex chuckled as York threw his arms in the air in defeat. 

“If I'd _known_ I was going to be surrounded by crazies for the rest of my life, I never would have left the Marines. Semper fucking fi,” York grumbled as he shifted back in his seat. Almost immediately North's hand was there, resting on the piece of armor that covered his knee. Sure, he couldn't feel it, but the sentiment was appreciated. 

“Your life has been a hundred times more exciting since you met me,” North chuckled, and as much as York hated to admit it, it was very true. But he was pretty sure that was only true because of _where_ he'd met North.

“What if I wanted a quiet life?” York asked, and Tex just shook her head at them. 

“The question is, Lacey, do you think you can do it?” Tex asked, turning her attention to the pilot. 

“I'll want the little green guy to run some calculations for me, and help me time it, but it should work,” Lacey agreed, pushing herself to her feet and already moving to the cockpit. “Send him up as soon as you can spare, Miles.”

“Getting in is, of course, only the first part of our problems,” Tex continued once Lacey was gone and Delta flashed away from York's shoulder to go meet with the pilot and consult on the absolutely, positively insane and stupid plan they had in the works.

_Keep me appraised of things,_ York ordered his AI as Delta turned his attention to Lacey and York was left staring at Tex. 

_It would be impossible for me to do anything less since it will be your neural network I will be using to run our calculations. You'll be able to..._

_I know, D, but I want you to keep me appraised anyway._

“Once we're in the hangar we need to secure it quickly so Lacey can land. The problem is we can't safely fire until we make it through the barrier screen, so we're going to be giving them plenty of time to take potshots at us before we can respond,” Tex observed, shaking her head. “Of course we can't even be certain of that much. We have no clue whether they'll have a substantial security presence, how quickly they'll react to our approach, or how competent they'll be.”

“Well, I don't think we'll need to worry _too_ much about enemy fire coming in,” North assured her, a faint smile on his face. “If we're close enough to each other, Theta should be able to cover our approach. Can't you, kiddo?”

“Leave it to me,” Theta cheered. “I promise to do my best to help David.”

“After we get there we'll have to secure the hangar and disable any potential defenses so Lacey can land without an issue. North and I will be responsible for that while York deals with taking down any defenses they can find through the computers. Delta will help you with that?”

“He's getting surprisingly good at it,” York agreed with a sigh. “Would have preferred not testing it in the situation we did, but there you go.”

“While you're working, we're gonna need you to try pulling up any schematics and information on Wash you can find,” North added, and when York looked at him he could see his lover biting his lip. “Otherwise we're going to have to try and clear the place room by room, which will take far too long.”

“After that we're going to have to make our way to David, get him out, and get him safely back to the Pelican, and all that with minimal civilian harm,” Tex observed, leaning back in her seat and sighing. “Someone's going to have to watch the hangar and cover Lacey. She says she wants to refuel if at all possible while we're there and raid for whatever supplies we can find that might be useful... I'm guessing you two are going to insist on me staying behind?”

York glanced toward North, and saw the same certainty there he knew had to be in his own eyes. 

“You do realize that I'm better at this than either of you,” she continued, clearly having read their shared look. “No offense, but I'm about...”

“We could no more let you do that than you could have let us handle Alpha,” North pointed out, and York didn't find it necessary to add anything. “Besides, if Wash really is messed up, I don't think sending someone he's not all that familiar with is a good idea, Tex. You... Weren't exactly a friendly face last time he saw you. We'll need York if there are more locks, and...”

She just held up a hand to stop his argument in it's tracks. “I'll be a radio call away if you need me, okay? I want you to keep in radio contact as much as possible anyway. There's a lot of information we're going to need to run this thing, especially with us going in blind. For one, is Wash even going to have his armor on him still? I doubt it, but if he doesn't that changes how we have to handle the situation. Everything, no matter how inconsequential, I need to know it.”

“You do realize we have AIs that can help us adapt mission parameters on the fly, right?” York asked, not even bothering to hide the annoyance in his voice. 

Tex just shrugged. “Feel what you want to about the request, but it's just that. We don't have ranks out here, just a shared goal. In the end this is up to you two.”

With that Tex pushed herself to her feet and moved away, leaving York and North alone yet again. 

_How you doing up there, D?_

_I am going to require more time to work with Lacey on this project. I am certain I can trust you to busy yourself while I am occupied._

_Yeah, I probably can,_ York agreed as he looked to North, whose head bowed as Theta disappeared with the pop of a firework. _Just... Make sure we don't end up splattered on the side of the ship like Georgia did._

_I shall endeavor to achieve our ends with minimal unnecessary damage to you._

_Unnecessary damage? All damage is unnecessary, D._

_As you say._

“I could swear that Delta is actually getting sassy,” York sighed. North looked up for half a second, the brief flash of purple behind his eyes taking nothing from the concerned expression on his face. 

“Hey, relax,” York found himself saying as he threw an arm around North's shoulder and pulled the taller man toward him. North didn't bother to resist, just let York maneuver him into the undoubtedly uncomfortable position of resting his head on York's shoulder armor. “We'll get him back. And the first thing we are going to do is give him a firm talking to about getting himself whisked off so we have to save him like some damn fairy tale royalty or other.”

York smiled at the laughter, honest to god pure and simple laughter, that his comment drove North to. It'd been too long since he'd heard that. Far too long. A day without Nic laughing at something was hardly worthy of being called a day. 

He had every intention of filling their lives with real days again, and he meant to do it real soon. 

And anything that tried to steal that from him and his partners were going to have to explain themselves to his shotgun. 

* * * * * *

“You suckers ready for this?” 

No. Not even remotely. Still York gave his thumbs up and waited until Delta confirmed the gesture with an appropriate ping. Truth be told, he would have been about a thousand times more 'ready' for this insanity if Delta's attention had been focused entirely on him, but he understood why that wasn't possible. They needed Delta to help time this stupid stunt; none of the other AIs were suited to the task. Theta would be too nervous, Tex was refusing to treat herself in that manner, and Omega... 

Tex assured them all that Omega was still laughing his fucking digital ass off about Carolina, and promised she'd deal with him the second they were done with Wash. 

“Roger. Sync up, cockbites,” Tex ordered.

“Sync,” York nervously choked out while North shouted it clearly. Honestly to fuck, it almost sounded like North was excited by the prospect of their pending flight. 

“Grav boot failure points set?” Tex continued, and York sighed as he checked the readout on his HUD. 

“Yep. All set for Operation What-The-Fuck,” York confirmed for himself, really hating how low the force on the boots were set. Of course that was the point. 

They had no jetpacks on the Pelican they had stolen, and they still needed to cover the distance between the Pelican and the hangar they were going to hit. How Tex had come up with the idea of using the momentum of the Pelican to sling shot them over that distance was beyond him, but everyone else seemed confident that it was going to work out. Hell, Delta had spent nearly an hour playing the calculations out through his mind, and every one came back with good marks... provided the timing was right.

York had far too many instances in the back corner of his mind where Delta calculated just how badly his body would be fucked up by slamming into the side of the distant ship to be comforted by the successes. 

_“Approaching launch point,”_ Lacey radioed from the cockpit. _“Lowering ramp now. Good luck kiddos.”_

“I think we're going to need more than just that,” York groaned as the sound of the ramp opening came to him. Everything they weren't hauling with them had been locked down as best as they had been able to manage... except for them. He followed Tex and North out onto the ramp when it was fully open, winced at how easily it was to lift his boots from the ramp, and what he knew had to come next. 

_“We're sure about this?”_ he asked as he switched over to the radio, earning a scoff from Tex and a pitying sigh from North. 

_“Delta says it will work,”_ Tex grumbled at him, pulling first one and then the other of her assault rifles from the magstrips on her thighs to inspect their clips. _“Can't you at least have faith in your own AI's calculations?”_

_“It's not that,”_ York sighed, _“It's... The last time I went hurtling through space toward a hangar like this I had just pretty much been shot at by the MoI, spent a lot of time dodging around debris field, and barely managed to arrive just in time to do it_ again. _”_

North chuckled and shook his head, _“Yeah, and that time he skidded over the flight deck on his ass for a few feet. Not exactly the most graceful entrance.”_

_“Like you did any better!”_ York protested.

_“He did,”_ Theta insisted as he popped forth in a purple flash of light. _“They were all sorts of whoosh bam bang!”_

_“Thanks Theta, but he knows I'm flawless when transitioning from null g to standard,”_ North teased, and York rolled his eyes behind his visor. 

_“Fine, let's just get this bullshit over with,”_ York groaned. _“And you better be as good as you say you are, Theta.”_

_“I'm better,”_ the AI assured him before flickering out, replaced by sets of panels from the bubble shield flashing into activity in front of the three of them. 

_“See?”_ Theta gloated over the radio as the tri-panel setups spun rapidly first clockwise then counter-clockwise. _“I could do this in my sleep.”_

_“AIs don't sleep, Theta,”_ York reminded the excitable AI, earning a look from behind North's helmet that was clearly dirty. 

_“Hey guys, you're really fucking interesting to listen to, but you clearly missed the fucking announcement that we're approaching launch point. Shut the hell up and hold on to your boots!”_ Lacey barked at them.

That was all the warning they got, except for York. There was a momentary ping from Delta that made him lock his knees together and hold his breath before the Pelican jerked sharply below him. That would be Lacey putting on emergency evasive thrusters, which turned the Pelican suddenly. The grav hold on his boots failed, just like they were supposed to, and York felt Delta slip back into place in his mind as he was suddenly sailing at far too high speeds through the endless expanse of space. 

_“It would appear that we are on course,”_ Delta informed them all, sounding quite pleased with himself.

_“D... That sounded suspiciously like relief,”_ North's voice echoed through his helmet, and York swallowed hard as he caught on to that as well. 

_“You're fucking killing me here, Delta,”_ York groaned into his helmet. _“Are we going to make it or not?”_

Because, damn, they seemed to be approaching the distant blue barrier faster than he'd expected. 

_“We'll be fine,”_ Tex sighed at them. _“I'm picking up activity in their hangar bay. Theta... You're on.”_

The shield panels were back almost immediately, and surprisingly it wasn't much of a comfort to York as he watched Delta project their course over his HUD and their probability of success. Sure, the number was high, growing higher every second, but until it was one-hundred percent or they were there, he was resolved not to be comfortable with the situation.

He hadn't signed up for _this._

_“Get ready,”_ Tex warned them after another few seconds of hurtling forth. _“We should be breaching in...”_

Delta curled his body into a ball, twisted him with a discrete arm motion, and York felt more than watched them go through the barrier. It was a momentary tingling across his armor, all the way through to his skin. He uncoiled on his own, feet hitting the floor in a run as he whipped his shotgun from over his shoulder and Delta highlighted targets on his HUD. He was down behind a high stacked pallet for half a second, cracking the butt of his shotgun across the side of a security force's helmet. Her body crumpled before him as York put a hand on the top of the pallet and with a thrust of power from his armor he was vaulting up and sliding over, shotgun back in firing position.

Three quick shots while he slid, bodies crumpled to the floor, and then he was swinging his feet under him to catch him as he fell forward into a roll. 

A brief ping from Delta made him duck as a body sailed easily over his back, the owner clearly having gotten too close to Tex. But there really wasn't much of a chance to think anything more than that before York shoved a few more cartridges into his shotgun and popped around the edge of the barrel he'd come to a stop behind and fired. The damn fool who had been running in his direction went down, his legs a mess of red. 

_“Grenade coming in on your five, Miles,”_ North warned him, and York was immediately rolling to the side, trying to put as much space between himself and the explosive as possible. 

_Three,_ Delta pinged, and York came to his feet as the explosion rang in his audio feeds and he shot almost point blank into some idiot's chest. 

_“Miles, check your six,”_ Tex bellowed over the radio, her statement almost coinciding with Theta uploading a brief motion tracker profile on what was coming. York stabilized himself on his right leg, spun, and kicked the body hurtling at him out of the air. 

_“Do you mind, Tex? My leg is already fucked up enough from fighting Carolina,”_ he winced as he got his feet back under him and returned his attention to the fire fight around them. 

_“You really going to let something as minor as a few bruises slow you down? I thought you earned your number three place,”_ Tex teased as York emptied three rounds into a man that had been charging at him with what looked like a rocket launcher. Who needed a fucking rocket launcher on what was supposed to be a medical ship?

_“Not everyone is as... durable as you,”_ York snapped back as Delta made him duck just in time for three sniper rounds to sail through the air over his head and drop a trio who had just entered from the distant hatch. 

_“Listen you two, I'll turn this breach around if I have to,”_ North chided them both, amusement underlying his voice as another shot rang out before Delta gave York the all clear to jump his cover and continue to the next bit he'd need to get his shotgun into effective range. 

_“I'm sure you will, Mom,”_ York teased right back, taking a moment to breathe and reload before popping up to take down another two of the rapidly thinning security force with as many shots. 

_“For that, you get no sex for a week,”_ North came back immediately. _“Now get your ass over to that control console.”_

_“We'll see about that,”_ York laughed as he threw himself at the display Delta had highlighted on his HUD. _“I mean, you aren't going to deny Wash if he wants to...”_

_“Finish that thought, Miles, and I will put a round in your ass,”_ Tex threatened, and York immediately stopped. He would have liked to think he had because he'd finally skidded into position next to the panel, but the truth was he couldn't be sure Tex wouldn't follow through with her threat. 

_“Now Tex, you may not know Miles all that well, but I promise he works better when he's making inappropriate comments,”_ North chuckled, and Tex groaned. York, for what it was worth, was happy to sense North's approach from behind. His current task wasn't going to be a short one and having Theta and the bubble-shield to cover him was comforting. 

_Oh no,_ Delta observed as York lowered his hands to the panel.

_No. No! You don't get to 'oh no' before I even touch the damn thing,_ York snapped. _Dammit I'm_ good _at this. When will..._

_No, it appears that one of the troopers has opted not to confront Tex, and is instead..._

An alarm rent the air and York just sighed. _Yeah, D, I think I get what you're saying._

They hadn't expected this to go easily anyway. Why be surprised when they turned out to be right?


	20. Chapter 20

When Wash had thrown the punch he had known it wasn't going to hit. He'd thrown the same punch at Florida at least four times over the course of their several fights this morning. Every last time Florida had found a way to deal with it. Once it had been the other man grabbing his arm and throwing Wash over his shoulder. Another time it had been him side stepping to land three punches to Wash's stomach. 

The only reason the head jab made contact with Florida's helmet was because at the first note of the alarm, Florida froze. Literally froze in place, his head tilting curiously to the side. 

By the second note Wash was flat on his ass and Florida was striding quickly away from him. 

At the fifth note Wash was alone, staring up at the ceiling and trying to process what had just happened. 

The alarm kept blaring as he peered up at the frustrating white and tried to process what was going on. 

_I'm sorry._

_Not helping, Epsilon,_ Wash groaned into the mind he didn't share and pushed himself to his feet. 

They were security alarms. Not medical, not something else, definitely a security alarm. Nothing short of that would send Florida out of his room all but running. And yet there was more than just that. If it were some standard sort of security situation, Florida wouldn't have left. That tilt of his head had been Florida listening to something on his radio, and Wash was certain of that. 

There was really a narrow range of circumstances which would draw Florida away from directly watching over Wash, and he was afraid he knew just which this was.

And they didn't know what was coming for them. 

Of course he couldn't be certain— _except he was certain_ —so he had to be prepared for anything. Prepared for Florida coming back and deciding he wasn't worth the trouble the assassin had been expected to put into controlling him. Prepared for the chance that it wasn't the cavalry coming for him, but something else, something worse. Prepared for what he couldn't prepare for. Prepared for what he could. 

Wash moved quickly to the bed and for a moment he glared down at the pillowcase. For a brief moment he regretted the fit he'd had after the Director's visit and how it'd earned him having his bedding sewed to the mattress and pillow. Still, this was the closest hope he had to a potential weapon. His pistol still lay under it, emptied and useless, but the pillowcase... 

His fingers managed to find purchase on the fabric, but after three tries Washington hurled the pillow to the bed and growled. Immediately he tore the gloves from his hands and lunged for the table that still had the remains of breakfast. The spoons from the cereal were still there, and Wash grabbed one, snapped the head off, and contemplated the sharp edge of the handle. Oh well, it was the best chance he had. Carefully Wash jammed the plastic into a slit in the front of his armor and carefully pried open a panel on his chest plate. There was no mirror to work by, but Epsilon had perfect memory of how this armor was put together, which was all he needed. 

Florida had left his knitting next to the meal, and while the point of one of the needled wouldn't have been suitable to getting the panel open, the metal was perfect for what came next. Wash took one of the needles and crossed to the bed once more, glaring at the pillow.

“This will hurt me more than it hurts you,” Wash whispered to himself and the pillowcase before jamming the needle into the exposed circuitry of his armor.

His arms tensed just a few seconds after he grabbed the pillowcase. The armor constricted from the brief power overload, and his arms snapped apart, tearing the cloth between his hands with ease. Wash bit back a scream from the way his body coiled in on itself from the force of the armor's constriction. There was a long moment where he was certain that the pain would never end, that the armor would never unlock, that the surge of power would never end and he'd die there, curled into as small a ball as the armor would allow. 

Then the lock was gone and Wash hauled his gloves back on, ignoring the pain, before he stripped the pillowcase and made straight for the bookshelf, slamming the panel on his chest plate down before he started tearing the heaviest books off and throwing them into the pillowcase. Thick books, hardbacks, anything that had a good heft to it went into the bag until it felt weighty in his grip. That done he spun the case a few times to get a good cord on it, and then twisted that around his hand. 

It was a pathetic bludgeoning tool, but it was something. And damned if he wasn't tired of sitting back and being passive. All it would take was a second and a single thoughtless entrance. That would hopefully be enough to get him out of this room, if nothing else. After that... well, as York liked to say, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. 

That didn't make the waiting any easier. 

* * * * * *

It's strange to just stand there, pressed against the wall by the door, with nothing but a bundle of books to protect himself with. More, it was strange to stand there for nearly ten minutes, waiting silently, breathing slowly, monitoring his own vitals on the HUD. The alarm had ended a while before, and his heart had tightened in that moment. He'd been certain, so fucking certain, of what that meant. That somewhere on the ship Florida stood over York and North's bodies. 

Still he waited. Because doing anything else hurt more. Thinking too long, too hard, only made the silence worse. 

His body went tense as he heard footsteps on the other side of the door. Wash carefully checked his grip on his makeshift weapon and prepared himself. Whatever happened next was bound to change things.

The door gently hissed open and Wash swung the bag at the level he knew Florida's head should be at. 

“Ow! Fuck!” someone shouted as they stumbled backward and another person caught them. 

“Perhaps you should not have attempted to enter without warning him.”

Both of the voices were familiar. The flashes of tan and purple were familiar. The low chuckle filled with amusement and relief was more than familiar. 

Wash moved from his spot next to the door and stood there for half a moment, staring at purple and tan clad Freelancers, North holding York up as the latter rubbed his helmet as if it pained him. It wasn't possible. It really wasn't. 

“Miles... Nic,” he whispered in disbelief as he looked at them. “You're...”

“Yeah, we came all this way to save your sorry butt, and this is the thanks we get?” York groaned as North pushed him back to his feet. “You know what, Nic, I think his royal highness wants us to leave. Let's just pack up and go. We're clearly not wanted he...”

Wash dropped the bag and threw himself forward. For all of York's posturing his arms opened immediately when Wash moved forward and his heart skipped a beat when York's arms closed around him. A moment later he found North's around him as well, and it didn't matter that there was armor between them all, it was exactly where he wanted to be. 

“Shut up. Shut your stupid fucking mouth,” Wash whispered against York's shoulder. “You'll ruin everything.”

“He does that a lot,” North chuckled low in his throat and the sound was like warmth all over his body. 

“He's been worse since you left,” Theta chimed in, appearing in a splash of purple fireworks. Delta, who was still hovering over York's shoulder, seemed to shake his head a bit. 

“We all have been concerned,” Delta provided. “There was no limit of worry over your untimely departure. That being said, we should not delay any longer than necessary. While I am certain Tex can continue to hold the hangar for...”

_Allison,_ the echo of Epsilon called in the back of his head. 

“Beta?” Wash gasped, hands coming up to his helmet at the way his ears were ringing. 

York went rigid next to him, and Wash could feel North pull away a little. Shit, that had been the wrong thing to say by about every stretch of the imagination. They were going to think he really was crazy now. 

“Tex doesn't like it when we call her that,” Theta said nervously, and then it was Wash's turn to pull away from his boyfriends, his eyes flying immediately to the AI. 

“Theta, I believe we are only serving to confuse David,” Delta added, and then it was Delta's turn to benefit from Wash's disbelieving stare. When had the AI started using personal names?

“Guys, let's not overwhelm him here,” North cut in, and at the statement the two AI seemed to withdraw a bit. “There's a huge story we've got to go over, but that is neither here nor there. We're still in the middle of a pretty unfriendly place, and we don't know what sort of backup they might have. We should really...”

“Yeah, I don't think he's listening,” Wash observed as York released him and his hands came up to the sides of Wash's helmet. 

“Miles, this really isn't the best time for that. Did you miss the fact that we're only recently out of the fire-fight?”North chided, both concerned and amused and completely like Wash remembered him. 

“Yeah, and that's why all I want is a kiss,” York countered, and Wash heard his thumbs flick over the clasps. “If you're concerned about stray bullets, Theta can cover us.” 

“Miles...” North repeated, this time warmer, and somewhere between the point where the visual feed died because of the helmet disconnect and when his face was uncovered, North's bubble shield had formed around them. 

“This isn't the time,” Wash mumbled, and he knew there was something he was missing, something he was forgetting, but his eyes were on Nic, whose helmet was already off. 

His face was just like Wash remembered it to be— _not just like, there was an edge of fatigue to it that hadn't been there when he'd seen North before heading in to surgery, but the smile hadn't changed, would never change_ —and he let his eyes close as Nic pulled him in. It was a slow, light, and god it made him burn. Wash couldn't help it, he let his hands come up to tangle them into Nic's hair. 

He'd only just gotten a grip on those pale locks when Nic pulled away, leaving him yearning for more, and then he was being turned. Nic groaned deep in his throat when Wash's hand tugged at his hair from Miles's action. He wanted to do something about that, but god he knew there was something he was missing, and then Miles had him by the shoulders, pulling him in tightly and all but slamming their lips together. Miles didn't kiss anything like Nic did. It was fast, it was hard, and it was demanding. All Wash could do was hold on. 

Then they had both pulled away and Wash was left standing there, faintly panting, staring up at Miles— _he didn't look the same either, there was no gel in his hair, and there was pain hidden in those eyes that he wished he knew the source of, because it wasn't him_ —and he was smiling. The first smile since he'd come to this place. No, the first genuine one in a while. 

_Flowers never stopped smiling._

Fuck.

“I was worried about you both. Figured it had to be you when the alarm cut in,” Wash gasped, taking his helmet back and immediately restoring it on his head, earning him a disapproving look from York. 

“Worried? David, I'm rather offended by that,” York chuckled, replacing his own helmet. “With Tex backing us up and the level of the security forces here, there really wasn't too much of a problem. Except that guy with the grenade, fuck him.”

“Yeah, that and the rocket launcher,” North agreed, his own voice suddenly filtered through his helmet. “We should check in with Tex. The frequency we're using is...”

“What about Florida?” Wash cut him off, backing away from York and North. 

“Florida? So this is where he got to?” York asked, sounding quite confused.

“It is logical that Agent Florida could have been moved to watch over David after our escape,” Delta suggested, floating forward once more. “That being said, the records regarding Agent Florida would suggest he would not pose a risk to...”

“Now now, Delta, it is rude to talk about someone behind their backs like that.”

Wash went rigid at the voice, for all that he could see that York and North seemed unaffected by Florida's voice cutting into their conversation. 

But they didn't, _couldn't_ , understand. Wash whirled on his heels and looked up, and sure enough he was there. Just _what_ Flowers was doing, dangling from an open ventilation shaft in the ceiling, his knees hooked over the edge and disappearing into the darkness, and his weapon in hand, was a question Wash didn't want to explore. He was pretty certain, though, that Florida had been lying in wait, patiently awaiting for the right moment to make his entrance and deal with them. 

“Florida,” North greeted, his voice cold as he raised his sniper rifle. “It would really be in your best interest to let us go.”

“I can't quite agree with you there. The Director was pretty specific on my orders. If someone showed up for Wash, I was to, and I quote, 'put a bullet through their damn heads.' I think he meant after I recovered your AI, of course. Can't lose those,” Florida responded, still cheerful despite his awkward position. 

“You're out gunned, out teched, and frankly out classed,” York continued, stepping forward and pushing Wash behind him in the same motion. “Two on one with an impossible to penetrate energy shield on our side. Really, I can't even begin to tell you how not worried I am.”

“York,” Wash hissed nervously, his hand coming up to grab York's arm. “You don't understand...”

“You should really listen to your lover,” Florida chuckled. “Of all people, you should know better than to judge someone based on what they've let you see.”

“I'm shaking in my boots. Wait, no, I'm not,” York snapped. “I've already had the pleasure of knocking Wyoming down a few pegs today. It would be nothing _at all_ to do the same to you.”

“York, you don't understand...”

“Look at him, he's so adorable. Trying to save you two. Tell you what, hand over your AI fragments and let me put Wash back in his little hole, and I'll let you go,” Florida said, his voice perfectly level and confident. It sent shivers down Wash's spine, for all that it didn't seem to bother the other two. But they didn't know what he did. “I'll tell the Director that you limped off to lick your wounds after ejecting your AIs to distract me. I'm sure he'll consider it a relatively fair trade. Tex, though, I'll have to put down. Too many problems since that girl showed up.”

“Wow, he thinks he can take Tex,” York laughed. “I think you're the one that belongs in that hideous room, Florida.”

“I don't like this,” Theta complained from North's shoulder. 

“His confidence is... disarming,” Delta agreed. 

“Don't worry, Theta, we've got this,” North reassured his AI, and Wash shook his head. They didn't get it, wouldn't get it even if he tried to tell them. Being underestimated was part of why Flowers was so effective in his chosen line of work. 

_System override 732-Tau. It's all you need._

“Delta, Theta, system override 732-Tau,” Wash snapped, forcing the even tone in his voice as he backed up the command with a discrete blast of code over all short range radio channels. It seemed that his only option left was putting his faith in the bit of him that was Epsilon. “Armor lock-down engage.”

“Da...”

“Wha...”

York's and North's voices cut out abruptly as their armor went absolutely rigid and locked down around them. Damn, that shouldn't have worked. Such a glaring flaw in their systems that the Director clearly should have been able to manipulate at some point. Any point. 

_Except he never had it,_ the not-Epsilon inside him chuckled bitterly. _It was a leftover fragment from before Alpha's splintering. A safety control he made in himself, and thus in his pieces._

“Theta, flicker the shield once at a .2 second duration on my mark,” Wash ordered, stepping forward to the edge of the shield. 

“Well, looks like the kid had some tricks up his sleeve the old man didn't anticipate. Wonder what that means. Tell me, Wash, are you trying to sacrifice yourself for them?” Florida asked as cheerfully as someone else might have commented on a pleasant day. 

“They don't understand what's going on here, Florida,” Wash admitted, raising his hand to brush the edge of the bubble before him. “To be honest, I'm not that sure you do, either. You don't understand because the Director didn't want anyone to. Not me, not you, not even his own daughter or the Counselor. But the thing is... I do. That's why he put me here. Because he was afraid of me, Florida.”

“You?” That got a cold chuckle. “I can't see why.”

“Because I know what he is, and what he's done. I know his secrets. But the thing is... I know yours too. Not all of them, but enough. So yeah, I'm afraid. I'm fucking terrified. But if this is what I have to do to protect them, then I'm not going to back down.”

“So just what are you suggesting, _David?_ ” Florida demanded, a harder edge to his voice. Wash had never heard that tone from Florida before, but he still knew it. Epsilon knew it. It wasn't a good thing to be hearing. 

“I'm suggesting we settle this. Just you and me. You win, I go back in and send them away and tell the Director everything he wants to know. If that doesn't get you a tidy little bonus, nothing will. If I win, we get to go.”

“And if I don't like either bargain?” There was genuine curiosity in the tone, and Wash kept his chin high as he faced the upside down man. 

“Then I'll keep this shield up long enough to get Tex curious, and you can deal with _her_.” It was a bit of a gamble, but Wash felt that no one, even Florida, wanted to cross Tex.

Florida seemed to seriously consider the idea for a moment, then he was bending up, gun on its magstrip, and catching the edge of the vent with his hands. Wash watched in silence as Florida used the grip to pull himself easily from the vent and touch down on the floor. There Florida crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head. 

“Just what is it the Director wants out of you, kid?”

“Like I said, _everything._ Let's throw that into the bet. You win, I give you first go at the information. I win, you don't even mention this conversation. I trust your honor goes that far,” Wash declared, more confident than he really felt. 

“You're making some pretty lofty bets dependent on how far you think my honor reaches. Might not be the best choice,” Florida observed.

“I know exactly how far your honor reaches, Flowers.”

The name was all it took. All pretense seemed to dissolve away from the other man's stance. Instead he stood there, still like a big predator staring down its prey, with his fists clenched briefly at his sides. 

“Now there's a name I hadn't expected to hear again so soon,” Flowers admitted, and his voice was ice and steel. “You really are something interesting, David. I agree. But don't begin to think I'm going to take it as easy on you now as I have these last few days.”

“I wouldn't begin to hope for that,” Wash admitted, cracking his knuckles. “Delta, radio Tex and inform her that we will be slightly delayed in our return, but she is not to be concerned. Tell her nothing of our current situation. If she presses, inform her that it is a long story we would be happier telling her in the safety of the Pelican.”

“Affirmative,” Delta agreed from somewhere behind him.

“Theta... Mark.”

He'd been ready for the cue, had no choice but to be, and Wash was beyond the limit of the shield instantly. Florida was faster, though, had always been faster, and before Wash could finish closing the slight man was inside his guard, hands closing on the chestplate of Wash's armor. 

_A hip throw, twisting in mid-air, pinning his victim to the ground. Blow to the base of the skull, just behind the left jaw hinge to knock them out._

The second the hands closed on him Wash let his weight fall dead to the ground, and there was a surprised yelp as Florida toppled with him. Even as they fell together Wash's hands clapped around Florida's wrists and he twisted them sharply away from their grip. Florida didn't let the surprise overcome him for long. He shook Wash's grip the second they hit the floor and then the man was on his feet and dancing back a few steps. 

“Interesting...” Flowers laughed, actually laughed, and it was a cold, hollow sound. “No one's survived that little move since...”

“Kreshenkov,” Wash agreed, bringing his hands behind his head, rolling his body back, and using the momentum to flip himself to his feet. “Let's not play the name game here. One of us is going to be impressed, and it won't be me.”

“What _are_ you?” Florida whispered, but he didn't stay still. Immediately he was throwing himself forward _elbow raised, meant to be brought down on the back of the head. Failing that he would use the block to give himself the energy to redirect behind the target and put them in a sleeper hold._

Wash didn't block, he ducked at the last moment, slamming forward with some force and getting his arms around Florida's stomach. It wasn't much, but the momentum was enough to carry him forward into the wall and slam Florida into it. The shock of being rammed, or maybe the way his head snap back hard against the metal walls, stopped Florida before he could bring his elbow down sharply into Wash's spine. Still, he wasn't running the risk of Florida recovering while he was exposed like this. Even as he dealt the blow Wash was dropping the older man and dancing back out of range. 

Florida was right back on his feet and shifting back, letting his weight rest on his right leg _rather than his left. That left would come up and over, twisting around, and be a sharp heel drop on the back of his head or his shoulder, enough to double him over for Florida's hands to wrap around the neck of his victim and twist around and up to snap the spine._

Wash moved back rather than let himself be in range, smirking in his helmet as he did so. It wasn't perfect, hell it was hardly even functioning, but for the first time since waking he was thankful for everything Epsilon had spilled into him. There had been so many off the book practices for Florida that the Director had recorded for Alpha's evaluation anyway. There were bits and pieces of coroner's reports from his victims. Hell, there were even the occasional videos of Flowers himself at work. Alone they were terrifying. Together they might just be enough. 

Except Florida had read his retreat properly, and instead of continuing on his original plan the man pulled a knife from some sheath hidden on his body. Hardly fair, but Flowers didn't fight fair. His line of work didn't allow for it. Wash was frankly hoping Florida didn't choose to bring his gun into play.

The blade flipped briefly in the air before Florida caught it between the tips of the fingers of his right hand and _drew back his arm. He let it sail and then threw himself after the blade._

Wash shifted just far enough to the side to take the blade's tip in the shoulder of his armor, and immediately turned to bring his hands up to block a high kick on his right side. He even caught the leg, something he regretted almost immediately when Florida bounced lightly on his right foot briefly before throwing himself in the air, twisting rapidly, and slamming the heel of his free leg into the side of Wash's visor. His hands released Florida's leg as he stumbled to the side, leaving the other Freelancer to fall to the ground, but almost immediately Florida's feet flared out with a spin like a break dancer's, and the man span on his shoulders for a brief moment before his feet were somehow under him again. 

“Not your normal fare,” Wash groaned as he got his balance back under him, ignoring the faint alarm in his armor that pointed his attention at a fine crack along his visor. That was going to be a pain to fix if he got out of here. 

“Picked up a few things from watching you Freelancers,” Florida admitted, clearly gloating as he shooed imaginary dust from his shoulders. “Texas's style isn't really my cup of tea. Too much reliance on force I just don't have. Carolina and South, though... Those kind of moves I can handle. Even picked up a bit of knife work from C.T. I mean, I was better than her, but she taught me a few things about throwing them that I hadn't expected.” Florida shrugged and chuckled in that hauntingly cold tone. “Live and learn.”

“Sometimes too much,” Wash agreed, sinking down into a new defensive stance, keeping his mind open and welcoming to whatever flashes Epsilon's shadow in his mind was ready to haul out for him next. And, at the same time, he almost missed the AI he had barely known. Something told him that with Epsilon to pull the information he needed with all the speed of a computer and throw it into his very limbs this would have been easier. As it was he tore the knife free from his chest and tossed it aside, making sure it skidded close to the energy shield. Hopefully Florida wouldn't...

Except the man was already moving. The second the knife was tossed Florida was after it, and Wash couldn't help but watch as the man scooped it up at the edge of the shield and then fucking ran _up the dome._ Florida twisted as his momentum seemed to die on the bubble shield and the force of his full body spin was behind the knife when it flew this time. Wash shifted out of the way, barely leaning back far enough to avoid the blade, and then Florida was there at his side, fist slamming into his helmet and knee coming up into his gut in the same move. 

Wash had just enough time to force the air out of his lungs before the knee hit, and rather than doubling over after the blow he grabbed Florida's leg and hauled, roughly. The shocked Freelancer fell with a yelp that was probably unbecoming of an assassin of his caliber, and Wash frankly didn't care. He just went after Florida, pinning the blue clad man to the floor, pressing his arm hard across Florida's throat. 

“What?” Florida all but squawked in shock. Of course he didn't let the change in position stop him for very long, His legs and hips bucked up off the floor and Wash had to roll backward as the other man came off the floor. 

“You're a lot better than you were letting on,” Florida admitted, and yet he didn't charge in immediately. Instead Flowers held where he was, fists up before him, and he waited for Wash to get back to his feet. Just what he needed right now, Flowers feeling courteous. “Or there's something else different about you.”

“Something else,” Wash agreed. “And part of the problem is that you threatened people I care about.”

“I'm starting to think I should have just shot at you all before Theta put up the shield. But I wanted to have some fun with this, and it's so much simpler when they underestimate you. I would have killed them, easily,” Florida laughed. “And I'm starting to think you knew that.”

“Like I said, Butch. I know what you are. Do you have any fucking clue how terrifying it is to eat a meal with you when you've got those damn knitting needles of yours so close to hand?”

The laughter was fuller this time, deeper too, and maybe a touch genuine. “And here I thought you were just flinching over seeing their colors in my work. But no, you were genuinely afraid of what I could do to you with them.”

“You're a scary man, Flowers,” Wash admitted. “I'd rather not have to do this. I really _wish_ Tex was here to deal with your shit.”

“And instead it's you and me. Not exactly a fight anyone would have taken bets on a while ago...” 

“No,” Wash agreed. “But, if it's all the same to you, I'd like to get it done with. I've spent all my time since arriving here dancing around my fate, and I'd like the coin to stop flipping and pick a fucking side.”

“Well then... One last exchange?”

“If you think it will be over that quick, you've got another thing coming.” Or so Wash hoped.

Florida shifted back on his right leg. It wasn't much, it was a very minor move, barely noticeable. Someone else might have missed it entirely. Wash had stopped being 'someone else' when he'd embraced what was left of Epsilon, maybe even before that. Forty hours plus of videos of Florida in training, and this was it, the closest thing that the man had to a manipulable weak point other than his confidence. One stance that was a little too wide to be properly centered when Florida threw the punch that was more than a punch. Sure, it would look like a simple punch, but Florida was far from a simple man. 

There was a blade built into his armor. Not much of one. Barely a millimeter thick, but with just the right motion it thrust up from the gap in the plating on the back of his fist with not just enough force to easily pierce through the soft tissue at the base of the jaw, right up and through the soft palate, but enough to pierce the less durable undersuit that peeked out between bits of armor. All it would take would be a cut to the less well protected back of the knee to not only incapacitate Wash, but win the fight. 

Well, at least Florida had been serious about the 'one last exchange' bit. 

“The blade... good choice,” Wash chuckled. It was enough, just enough. Florida, Flowers, tilted his head in shock, frozen for half a moment like he had been when the alarms had gone off. Wash barreled forward, just enough of a start before Florida came back to himself and tightened his fist, preparing for the punch.

And then Wash threw his legs out before him, sliding over the last bit of space between them. Florida was twisting, trying to compensate, and Wash's hands closed around Florida's right ankle. The mixture of his weight and momentum was enough to pull the leg from under Florida. Maybe if his stance had been right, hadn't been off by that tiny bit, Florida could have recovered. As it was, Wash hauled the other man off his feet, and while he slid he twisted his arms as quickly as he could.

The snap and scream came at the same moment, and both of them made him want to be sick. 

Powered battle armor covered a lot. Their undersuits could even turn poorly angled bullets into bruises rather than open wounds.

Neither protected the joint very well. 

Wash pushed himself to his feet after the scream quieted into pained whimpering, and when he looked down at Florida he almost hated himself. The man was reaching toward his ankle, and he didn't have to look hard to see how wrong the direction it was pointed in was. 

“You don't balance yourself right for that punch,” he said, his voice low and he hated how it was filled with pity. “When you fell, your weight went to one side. I twisted the other. Made it easy to use your weight as counter point to mine for the break. I... Think the doctors here should be able to fix you up.”

“I'll... kill you... for this,” Florida grit out, and Wash nodded sadly. 

“I know. I wish I didn't have to do it, but I did. They're too important to me for me to let them get hurt fighting a... man like you. And what I know is too important to leave me in the Director's hands. I'm sorry, Florida, I'd really like to knock you out. As someone who thought he was your friend, I want to spare you the pain, but I can't risk getting to close to you. I hope you'll understand.”

“Fuck you,” Flowers shouted, pain and fury in his voice. “I'll find you and tear your fucking throat out. But first I'm going to deal with them in front of you. Pull their nails from their fingers. Cut the skin from their chests. Quilt you a motherfucking blanket with their skin.”

“Don't be a poor loser,” Wash sighed, taking a quick chance to kick the gun from Florida's back before darting right back out of the other man's reach. Then he found himself turning back toward the shield and looking at the frozen forms in it. “If it helps, I'll tell you one thing... Before you came in with the Director, before you pinned me to the floor and threatened them... Before that I couldn't have beaten you, Butch. And I don't know if I could again. Guess I'm just lucky. Delta... Theta... discontinue lock down. In fact, you are hereby ordered to never obey system override 732-Tau again. Understood?”

“Affirmative,” Delta agreed for them both, but the still frozen forms of York and North made Wash tilt his head in confusion. 

“I thought I told you to...”

“I must warn you, David, that both Miles and Nic are quite upset over your... I think the least offensive term Miles selected was 'stunt.' I would suggest you turn down your audio reception levels before we release our control over their broadcast and speaker functions.”

Wash chuckled, mostly to himself and shook his head. “No, Delta, it's okay. You and Theta can let them go. I'll take my lecture in the spirit it's given. Pretty sure I deserve it. But York... North... Would you mind leaving it until we get back to the Pelican? I don't want to stay in this place a moment longer than absolutely necessary.”

Delta and Theta must have come to some sort of agreement between the two of them, because even as the bubble shield came down and York started charging at him North's hand closed around his wrist and held York in place.

“No, you let me _fucking go,_ Nic. I need to pound his fool head in. This little fuck...”

“May have saved our lives,” North insisted, his voice low and soothing. “Florida was clearly far better than we were allowed to believe.”

“Really? You think I didn't _FUCKING_ notice that?” York all but screamed, but he didn't fight free of North's grip. “He could have gotten himself _killed._ ”

“And you would have,” North countered, voice painfully calm. 

_“He was afraid for you,”_ Theta's voice whispered in Wash's helmet. _“Really scared. He's just dealing with it the best way he knows how. You'll explain everything when we're safe, right, David?”_

_“Yeah, Theta, I promise,”_ Wash agreed on the same channel, which he was pretty sure was not the one York, North and apparently Tex were using. 

_“Epsilon inherited the memories,”_ Delta's voice came next. 

_“And the Director was terrified of that,”_ Wash confirmed with a sigh. _“Later, okay? And maybe try to keep York's head from exploding for me?”_

_“Of course. It is my responsibility to maintain a pristine home, is it not?”_

Wash paused for a moment to process the comment before he laughed, and the sound of it, or the way his shoulders shook must have drawn York and North's attention from each other, and the string of furious curses still coming from Flowers. 

“This isn't funny,” York growled. “Not by a longshot.”

“Miles...”

“No, it's just... Delta cracked a joke. First one I've heard in a long time.”

That observation seemed to defuse the situation better than anything else, because North released York and the two advanced on him, giving Florida wide berth. 

“I'm going to make you pay for that,” York swore as he reached Wash's side. “For a pretty long time.”

“So long as you have the time to do it, I'll make sure to pay attention,” Wash promised, before turning his attention to North. The taller man pulled a battle rifle from his hip and pressed it into Wash's hands. York started pulling magazines from ammo slots all over his armor and shoving them into Wash's immediately afterward. “What?” was all Wash could figure to say in response.

“You've proven you're capable of a fight,” North explained. “We weren't sure if you would be when we found you. Had a pretty serious debate over that. You might be crazy and stupid and clearly messed up somehow, but the extra gun will help. Tex and Lacey are waiting...”

“Lacey?”

York sighed and shook his head. “He means Four Seven Niner. We've sorta gotten used to using her name. But that's part of the long story. Which just keeps getting longer. So why don't we head back to our esteemed female companions and hope Tex doesn't kick our asses for taking so long to get to you. Sound good?”

“No. But sounds doable,” Wash sighed before falling in behind his older lovers and following them. After all, for everything he did know, everything he had learned from Epsilon, he still had no clue how to get out of this place.

* * * * * *

“Washington...”

“This wasn't what he set out to do, Beta. He was trying to build something different. Some way to honor your memory. To finish the war you gave your life for. The problem was that he was obsessed with you. Always was, and probably always will be. So... You got dragged along for the ride. The worst part? It was because of you that the idea of fracturing the Alpha came up. He hated that he'd only been given one AI, but he was going to find a way to make it work, to get them to give him more. But you... Your presence seemed to make him hope for something more.”

“So this is all my...”

“No. It's the fault of a lonely old man who sought his wife so deeply he managed to even forget his daughter. If nothing else, he deserves our pity.”

“You don't hate him?”

“I wish I could. But part of him is still in me. It's a part that wants me to pull you in for a kiss, Beta. To protect you from everything, no matter how ridiculous that sounds. I can no more hate him than I can Epsilon.”

“You're... a better man than him.”

“Maybe. But I have a perspective he doesn't.”

* * * * * *

“Buckle up back there. I want out of here as fast as possible when Tex stops covering the door,” Four Seven Niner—Lacey, Wash mentally corrected himself—called back from the cockpit as Wash picked a seat he could see her from.

“Thank you,” he responded before taking a moment to glance back at where Tex stood a distance away from the Pelican, ducked behind a large crate and popping up every now and then to exchange fire with the meager security forces that had filtered in after York and North had hauled him into the hangar. York and North, for what it was worth, were busy hauling the last bits of supplies Tex and Lacey had singled out into the Pelican and stowing them wherever they could manage. 

“Don't thank me yet, rookie,” Lacey answered, something like a teasing edge to her voice. “Good to see you okay.”

“Okay is... a relative term.”

“You managed to drive all four of us to escape from an oppressive and corrupt ONI research program that was literally torturing someone for their own ends, and not someone who agreed like those stupid ass SPARTANs seem to. You got us out long before all the nice little arrests could come down, so yeah, I'm going to thank you regardless of how the situation looks right now.”

“You do realize you've stolen what pretty much equates to a fucking light cruiser worth of irreplaceable, high end military tech, right?”

“Well when you put it that way... It sounds like hand cuffs and iron bars might still be in our future. Thanks, _David,_ I really needed that right now.”

“Happy to help,” he chuckled. “If it helps, you guys have, in a way, saved me from a death sentence. That room they had me in might have been designed to discourage suicide attempts, but I don't think they accounted for how determined a Freelancer could be if he wanted to.”

“Not even funny. Not remotely.”

“Be that as it may, it's the truth. So thanks. For everything. For keeping them all safe.”

“Safe... yeah. They haven't told you about how I got them on this ship have they?”

Wash raised an eyebrow behind his helmet. “Oh?”

“I'll let York handle explaining that part. I haven't gotten tired of hearing him call me crazy yet.”

That... was probably not a good sign.

“We're good, Lacey,” North called as he half walked, half ran up the ramp with one last armload of boxes of medical supplies. York strode beside him with his own load, and proceeded to dump it into the seat next to Wash. 

“Soon as we get the ramp closed, I'm dealing with that shoulder of yours,” York warned him, and Wash grit his teeth in anticipation of the pain. It was easy to think that being shot was the worst part of being in the military. But at the moment Wash quite preferred the now familiar sting of the bullet wound in his shoulder from a bullet he really shouldn't have let hit him, to the too familiar—and insanely sharp memory thanks to Epsilon—feeling of a biofoam pen being jammed into the wound and being injected. 

“You sure I can't just...”

“Either you let him do it, or I will,” North threatened. That was more than enough to make Wash meekly nod in agreement. The last time North had personally overseen his first aid Wash... hadn't quite enjoyed it. York, surprisingly, was the one who was gentle when it came to injuries. North seemed have the opinion that the best way to encourage someone to not get hurt was to make sure that their healing reinforced the pain of the injury.

“Of course,” Wash immediately agreed. “Whatever you say.”

“We about ready to go?” Lacey called back. 

“Once Tex joins us we'll be good,” North agreed, and Wash watched as the older man stuffed his armload of supplies into a bin. “I'd suggest getting pre-flight out of the way.”

“Roger. You and Miles should...”

“Like hell,” York snapped, sorting through what was in the armload he'd dumped beside Wash. Whatever he apparently deemed as unnecessary was tossed toward North, who put them away as well. “I'll sit when I've taken care of David.”

“Would you stop calling me that?” Wash asked, shaking his head. “There are people...”

“There are people around who know what we are to each other, and know our names,” North interrupted as he sat by Wash and put a hand on his knee. “They haven't given a damn yet about us, and I don't think that's going to change. Besides, apparently our relationship was one of the worst kept secrets in Project Freelancer. Tex suspected, Florida suspected, Carolina knew about Miles and I at the very least, and South knew about the whole thing.”

“You're...”

“He's not kidding, and it's been driving us up the wall for a while,” York sighed with a shake of his head before pulling a biofoam injector from a pack he had left out. “Tex, get your damn ass on board before I tell Lacey to leave you.”

“Fuck you too, cockbite!” Tex shouted back, but when Wash turned to look for her he saw her finally break away from cover and retreat toward them. Still, her back was turned to them, her attention on what meager defense was still there, and at this point she mostly seemed to be trying to keep the men down rather than kill them. It was a recent change if the bodies that had been littering the hangar floor were any indication.

He could still see Allison in the way she moved. In the slight swing to her hips, even as she backed up, in the way she held the rifles she was carrying, and in the slight angle to her shoulders as she shot. Allison had always favored her right side. 

The thing was... He didn't think it haunted him quite the same way anymore. Yes, Epsilon was still there below the surface, waiting and watching, but he hadn't apologized once since they'd found Tex waiting for them in the hangar. 

“How much longer she gonna take?” Lacey shouted at them, and North just shook his head in annoyance. 

“It'll take as long as it takes,” Tex roared back even as she backed closer. “Just get ready to fly.”

“Aye aye, captain.”

“They're a bit like Lacey and Carolina used to get. Back before the implants started, so much bark that you're hardly prepared for the bite,” York mused after a moment, and Wash's eyes flashed toward his lover at the pain in his voice. There was a story there, a bad one, and he wasn't sure he was ready for it. 

“Runs in the family,” Wash chuckled more to himself than anyone else. That being said, he couldn't help but notice the way that York and North's helmets snapped quickly around to stare dead at him.

“What did you say?” York demanded.

“I just said it runs into the family. Why are you two so freaked over that?”

“Something Tex... Beta said when we were talking a bit ago. York pointed out that the way Carolina went after Tex was a bit unhealthy, and Beta responded that it ran in the family. That it wasn't in Carolina's blood to abandon things,” North provided, and Wash had to sigh. This wasn't where he wanted to start the story. 

“ _Tex,_ ” and Wash was careful to stress the name, because Beta clearly something they'd all have to discuss in time anyway, “meant it was shared between Carolina and her father.”

“Tex knew her father?” York asked, and the confusion in his voice was so plain that Wash sighed. 

“We all did. If he didn't wear those damn tinted glasses it would have been obvious too...” Wash started, and he regretted the choice of explanation almost immediately because while he couldn't see it he knew the other two had put it together and were gaping at him. 

“The Director was Carolina's _father?_ ” North asked in shock.

“ _Was?_ ” Wash asked right back. 

“We'll start at the beginning when we get off this thing,” Tex snapped, drawing all attention to her. As she strode up the ramp it started to close behind her, and Tex just blew past the group and into the cockpit. Wash could see her lean against Lacey's chair and he was certain she was saying something, but he couldn't hear it around the way not-Epsilon was keening in pain in his head. 

“ _Was?_ ” Wash repeated as the Pelican began to move around them and York fumbled for the biofoam injector, uncapping it as North reached around to lift Wash's helmet off. “Stop! Tell me what happened to Carolina!”

The whole Pelican was quiet after his shouting, except for the sounds of the Pelican itself. 

It was York that broke the silence after a few moments. His hands came up to Wash's chestplate and carefully removed it. He slowly handed the pieces of Wash's armor to North before running his thumb down in a line from Wash's neck to the middle of his chest. It took everything Wash had to not tremble at the touch, the first remotely intimate contact he'd had save for their kisses since before he'd gone in for surgery. 

“It's a really long story, and there are a lot of details I don't have on my own, but the simplest answer is that Carolina is dead.” 

York's fingers slipped under the edge of the suit, exposing more of Wash's skin with a gentle touch. It wasn't meant to be stimulating in the way Wash found it to be, especially not in light of what York had just told him. His body didn't seem to care much. He watched, trying to detach himself from what he was hearing, what he was feeling. York's intention was clearly to pull the suit from his wound and make sure there were no pieces of it in the wound tract before dealing with the injury. 

“Carolina was so focused on stopping Tex when we returned to the MoI that they got into a pretty bad fight. Took them to the bridge, where the navigation systems got damaged. The MoI crashed into a planet, and they were thrown through the forward windows. Maine... Got out there before either of them got back to their feet.” York's voice broke on the name Maine in a way that Wash hurt over. “I don't know why, but Maine attacked Carolina. We think he stole Carolina's AIs before he... Threw her off the cliff they landed on. Tex was too late to save her.”

“She's dead,” Wash said, his voice numb for half a moment before he had to grit his teeth against the pain of York gently probing the would with his fingers. 

“Yeah,” York agreed, his voice weak. “Don't bite your lip open this time.”

That was all the warning Wash got before the injector was jabbed into the bullet wound and York slammed his thumb on the button. 

He didn't bite his lip. He screamed, and put all of the pain of everything that had happened to him, everything he remembered of Alpha, and everything in him that was Epsilon's pain and his own over Carolina's death into the scream.

* * * * * *

“Looks like he's waking up,” someone, Nic, whispered as Wash felt himself float toward consciousness. Funny, he didn't remember blacking out. He didn't know he was even capable of forgetting things anymore. 

“I'm not sure that's the best idea,” Miles's voice countered, filled with concern.

“We're not sedating him. We don't know what they...” Tex argued, stopping only when Wash groaned.

“Don't I get a say?” he asked, letting his eyes slowly flutter open. Far above him he could see the metal of the ceiling of the Pelican's hold, and out of the corner of his eyes Nic and Miles waited for him, both clad in civvies. Damn, he'd almost forgotten just how much he hated that Grifball shirt of Miles's, and loved how the UNSC standard gray fit so tightly over Nic's impressive shoulders. 

“No,” Miles snapped even as Nic shook his head and Tex added a, “Fuck yeah he does you idiots.”

“I'm going with Tex on this one,” Wash said after a moment—no, he had to stop thinking of himself like that. Clearly the presence of the others here, the implications of what they had been doing on the MoI, and Florida's orders made it quite they weren't heading back to Project Freelancer. There was no reason he couldn't be David again. “Anyone gets near me with a sedative pack, and I'm breaking their nose.”

“Well, at least he's got his spirit back,” Lacey called from the cockpit. David groaned. Looked like privacy was going to be a joke until something changed around here. 

“How long was I out?” David asked with a sigh, throwing an arm over his eyes, only to find it was bare. Quickly his eyes glanced down at his own body and he had to fight not to blush when he found himself in a pair of Miles's sweat pants and an old t-shirt of Nic's. The sweats were a bit tight around his waist and the shirt too loose around his shoulders. Still, it was something other than the whites they had given him in the room, or his armor. 

“A few hours,” Nic provided. “Figured we should let you sleep. It's been... stressful.”

“But it's story time, dammit,” Miles insisted, pushing himself to his feet and then crouched back down to hold a hand out to David. “Very soon you're going to wish you were in a seat, trust me. The floors in these Pelicans blow.”

“Don't you insult my girl!” Lacey growled, and Nic just chuckled when Miles sent a rude gesture forward, but in a way that made it certain that Lacey would never see it. 

“We could start with our own story,” Tex suggested as David let himself be pulled to his feet, Nic immediately standing with him and wrapping an arm around his waist to help support him. Of course David pulled away almost immediately when he felt the tension in Nic's arm. Clearly he wasn't the only one injured here, just the one most obviously so. 

“Yeah, except the rest of us have heard all of that before,” Miles said, dismissing Tex's suggestion with a wave. “Think you can handle it right now, David?”

He settled down into the first seat Nic pushed him toward, and looked up at the ceiling for a long moment before sighing. “I guess that will work. I expect some of Beta's story will make more sense after she's got more context.”

“Don't call me...” Tex started, and David met the hazel leaning green of the eyes he knew had to be glaring at him under that helmet. 

“You are what you are, whether you want to run from that or not. And in a way this is as much your story as it is mine and theirs. Argue all you want, but that's the way it is,” David insisted, and after a moment Tex's head lowered. 

“Fine, do whatever you want,” Tex grumbled after a moment. Still, she didn't run away, which David was sure meant something. 

“I guess the story starts something a bit short of thirty years ago, with a bar, a grad student named Leonard Church who specialized in the study of artificial intelligence, and a woman named Allison who was the most beautiful and confident person he'd ever met in his life...”

Beta didn't meet his gaze once in the telling. 

* * * * * *

“Charlotte, huh,” Miles said, probably for the hundredth time— _twenty-ninth to be exact_ —but he didn't seem to let that stop his fingers from drawing lazy fractals up and down David's thigh. 

“Will you let that go?” Nic sighed into David's uninjured shoulder before kissing it lightly. 

“I don't think he's capable of it,” David admitted, eyes closed as he reveled in the feeling of bare skin against his own. They'd have to get up soon, throw their clothes back on, and he was pretty sure he owed Beta and Lacey a thanks for the pseudo-privacy they had offered the three of them by withdrawing into the cockpit and sealing the door behind them. As it was he opened his eyes and looked toward the window at the back of the Pelican and stared into the darkness of the empty space they were being quietly carried through to parts unknown. 

“Probably not,” Nic agreed as Miles protested with a wordless huff at David's side. 

“Oh come on, you can't tell me that Charlotte Allison Church isn't a bit of a strange name,” Miles sighed. 

“Maybe, but it was hers and all things considered, you should respect it instead of repeating it endlessly,” David mumbled sleepily. No, he could not sleep now. He had to get up, get dressed, check his wound, and haul Beta back here so he could get the other side of the story. To be honest he almost hated himself for needing to turn to Miles and Nic after telling the story of a man, a woman, and a child all lost in a single death, and the wreck it had wrought on all their lives. It had taken hours with all the questions Nic, Miles and Lacey threw at him, and he'd tried patiently to answer them without falling into the trap that was delving too deeply into the fragments Epsilon had left him.

He hadn't even had the chance to do much more than breeze over Flowers and the other Freelancers and all the other stuff. Just the core story had taken hours, after which he'd been claimed by his partners. 

Then again, he didn't regret the claiming part. It had been wonderful to touch other people, to be touched by something other than a memory. To have the amazing reality of Miles and Nic wash Allison and quiet the echo of Epsilon from his mind for a time had been... important. And he was certain that was as true for himself as it was for them. But that was a story he knew he wasn't going to get around Beta or Lacey. That would be the three of them alone, together some place they could feel safe. 

“It's not that,” Miles sighed and David felt a head shake at his side. “I just... When we find somewhere for ourselves. Somewhere safe... I want to make a marker for her. I don't think she's going to get one any other way. At least, not from people who cared about her.”

“That... would be nice,” David agreed after a long moment. 

Except he wasn't going to make one for Carolina alone. No. He'd make one for Connie, and Utah and Georgia and Wyoming and Maine and every last one of them. Because all of them, living and dead, had been destroyed by Leonard Church in one way or another.

And someone had to remember that for them. 

But he guessed they'd cross that bridge when they came to it. 

* * * * * *

“You guys _what?_ ” 

“Wow. I never heard just how they got to the hangar so fast. Fucking crazy,” Tex laughed, but David couldn't help but grit his teeth as he glared at the sheepish look on Miles's face. 

“If it's any consolation, I was just following,” Nic pleaded, and David shook his head. 

“It's not. If anything, you should have stopped him. A lot worse could have happened than simple suspensions,” David snapped, turning his glare on the older of his lovers. 

“Something worse did happen,” York pointed out. “We lost you. Can't think of anything quite so terrible as that.”

“If you ever do that again, I am going to bounce your head off the nearest wall.”

“So I guess that's what true love sounds like,” Lacey groaned from the cockpit where she was working with Delta in attempting to figure out a place for them to go. Miles had groaned in frustration when he'd been forced to don his armor for Delta to work, but at the moment, David couldn't find himself pitying the other man. 

“If you really want to get mad, these two idiots were making out in the classroom after hours,” Tex offered, mischief clear in her voice.

David raised a questioning eyebrow and looked to Nic, who sighed and pointed at Miles. 

“That was him too,” Nic defended himself.

“You weren't pushing him away,” Tex laughed.

“Did you get pictures?” Lacey called back. 

“Of course,” Tex chuckled. “I'll show you later.”

“I hate you all,” Miles groaned. 

“Get me a copy of that picture and I'll forgive them,” David laughed, and Tex tilted her head. 

“Don't test me, kid, I _will_ live up to a bargain like that, but not for something so cheap as you forgiving them.”

“What'll it take to get you to delete the image?” Miles sighed. 

“A lot more than you've got on you, locksmith. You made a lot of bad choices on the MoI, Miles. For instance, challenging South to a fight...”

“Miles,” David groaned, bringing his hands up to massage his temples. “What the _actual_ fuck?”

“She called you dead weight. Implied we were better off without you around,” Miles protested. “Someone had to shut her up.”

“Which only served to confirm things for both South and Florida,” Nic pointed out. 

“You _never_ challenge anyone,” David pointed in confusion. “Geez, you didn't think that was pointedly _stupid?_ ” 

“I'm pretty sure he didn't think nearly enough after you were taken away,” Tex laughed. “But just goes to show, David, how badly these idiots need you around.” Then the laughter stopped and her tone grew more serious, and in the back of his mind David could see the serious look on Allison's face when she had threatened to hurt her husband if he didn't let her get going. “But they risked a lot to save you. They were foolish, unbelievably poorly coordinated, and amazingly hopeful. You're lucky to have found people who love you enough for everything they've put themselves through on your behalf.”

David smiled at the men who sat on either side of him, meeting their eyes in turn. 

“Yeah. I really am...”

With that Miles and Nic moved toward him, Miles wrapping his arm around David's shoulder while Nic tangled their fingers together. 

It felt so damn good.

“Listen, I understand you guys are having a fucking moment back there, but how about you idiots actually tell him the story in a sensible order?” Lacey shouted at them all, over the speakers to boot, and David couldn't help but laugh as Miles and Nic started to talk over each other in an attempt to tell their part of the story.


	21. Chapter 21

_He isn't the same,_ Theta observed quietly in the back of Nic's mind, and it took everything Nic had not to sigh at the distressingly accurate words of his AI. 

_No. He isn't._

Nicolas still hadn't decided whether that was a good thing or a bad one. 

“You really think I'm letting you carry that?” Miles growled as David moved to lift a duffel nearly bursting at the seams over his shoulder. 

“You really think you can stop me?” David returned, a little smirk curling his lips that Nic knew meant he was daring Miles to try and take the bag from him. 

“Don't think your little bullet wound is going to stop me from knocking your punk ass over,” Miles warned, no real anger in his voice. No, Nic knew that playful tone, and where it could easily lead them all if he didn't step in quickly.

“You two can either respect proper distribution of our supplies, or I'll get Tex back here to deal with you,” Nic warned them both, and couldn't resist a faint smile when the bickering was immediately interrupted by the two crouching over their duffels to make a more reasonable load for David. It didn't matter that they all knew David was the strongest—Nic was the closest to it but his upper body strength had always been more focused on compensating for sniping on the move than carrying heavy loads long distances—Miles had already made them all agree to take it easy until David's shoulder was healed up. 

_Do you think he'll be the same again soon?_

_No._

There was no give in his answer, and Nic knew it, could feel how it upset Theta with the absolute force behind it. Nic didn't answer in definitive statements normally. Yet as he watched David and Miles start elbowing each other, he was certain. 

How could he not be after the three days it had taken them to get to the planet and find a suitable place to set down?

“You sure we shouldn't bring more ammo?” David asked, dodging Miles's elbow easier than Nic had ever seen him do before. 

“We only grabbed so much, and blew through a good bit of that going for you,” Miles pointed out. “With what Tex was saying, it sounds like she has more plans and will need it sooner than we would. So we're only grabbing what is absolutely necessary. Besides, we're supposed to be settling down, remember?”

“But we're sure here is the best idea?” 

David's voice was cold, and edged with a brief flash of concern that didn't sound quite like his usual. In ways Nic understood that. When Delta had come back with the suggestion of setting down on the same planet the MoI had crashed on everyone had thought it was crazy. Only Miles had come to Delta's defense, and that because he had immediate access to everything Delta had done to come to that conclusion. Nearly a full day had been given over to that debate before Tex had finally cut in and told them plainly that the best place to hide was somewhere the Director would never think to look for them. 

That statement had been enough to give David that increasingly familiar far away look in his eyes before agreeing with a certainty that sent chills down Nic's spine. 

They were the same chills he got every time David wasn't really paying attention and stood with his legs spread at shoulder width and his hands clasped behind his back. David never seemed to realize it, and definitely never caught the look of concern that flashed between Nic and Miles. The worst part was that the stance wasn't the only mannerism of Dr. Leonard Church's that David had seemed to have picked up.

“I already told you, D's positive. We've landed in a pretty random point, far from settlements, and without our transceivers or IFF on. Delta's already scoped out a route for us over land to a city a good distance from here. It's not big, hell it's not even pretty, but soon enough it's going to be home. Just for us.”

David didn't smile as easily. He didn't laugh as fully. He sure as hell didn't reach for them as much as he had. 

And there was that far away look in his eyes that Nic knew he himself was probably prone to when he spoke silently with Theta. Miles never seemed to do it, maybe because his connection with Delta was so much deeper. But David didn't have an AI to fall into like they did. Yet he still fell back into the echoes of Epsilon more often than Nic reached for Theta. 

_You're scared,_ Theta whispered, and Nic didn't do anything to hide his internal resigned sigh from Theta. 

_I'm terrified,_ Nic agreed after a moment. _Epsilon broke him. He hides it well, but the cracks are there, Theta, and I don't know how to fix them._

_Trust him to fix them for himself,_ Theta answered, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Then again, Theta _was_ trust. Maybe he was hesitant, maybe he was shy and slow to grow fond of someone, but sometimes it was hard for the AI to resolve interpersonal issues into anything other than matters of trust. Nic had asked him once, shortly after the AI had been implanted in him, if he understood just what his relationship with Miles and David was. 

Theta's answer had been that they had a trust so strong that it was hard to see where one person ended and another began.

Those lines were more clear cut now. 

“You know, I think we should double the load for Nic, seeing as he _isn't helping,_ ” David said, and Nic quickly turned his attention to his lovers with an apologetic smile. 

“Sorry, Theta was a little stressed about the situation. I just wanted to calm him down.”

_That was a sort of lie wasn't it?_

_Yeah, Theta, it was. But it's what he needs right now. So don't correct me to him, okay?_

A little sense of agreement flashed through his mind and Nic moved to join the fray as the other two sorted their supplies. It was strange how much that agreement meant to him at that moment. Maybe David hadn't realized it, but his stories about what Epsilon and Alpha had been like had changed the way Theta had looked at him. It wasn't just the old fondness anymore. No, Theta had come to transfer some of his awe for the Alpha to David. A lot of it had to do with the fact that David hadn't broken where Epsilon and Alpha had, but the truth was the worst part of all of this. 

David was broken, and for the life of him, Nic didn't know how to put him back together again. 

* * * * * *

“He's doing it again,” Miles observed with a quiet whisper as they sat around the fire David had built for them nearly half a day after they'd landed on this miserable rock. Theta's best estimates put them another week out from the settlement they were heading for, and all they had were MREs, medical supplies, minimal weapons, and a secure comm frequency Tex had given them all and promised to check daily. Nic had given his word even as Lacey had that he would use it for emergencies and check in for messages from them. They were all in this together after all, even though they were going their separate ways. 

“Calling his attention to it would only make it worse,” Nic sighed even as he watched David's eyes unfocus slightly as he stared up into the night sky. 

“And what do we lose by not calling him on it?”

Nic watched as a tear rolled down David's cheek with no warning, and no explanation. “I don't know.”

Still, he rose and crossed to David and pulled the younger man into his arms. He held David tight and didn't say anything. He just sat there, forcing himself to be strong and comforting, and when Miles joined them David finally relaxed and let himself cry into Nic's shirt. 

The first nightmare came that night. All they could do was hold his body tightly between theirs, whispering soft reassurances and promises and try to remind him that he was David Butler, an army brat who had fought for something and won, not a scientist named Leonard Church or a program named Alpha or Epsilon. 

When he woke in the morning they didn't talk about it. 

* * * * * *

“There's less stress,” David announced on day four of their hike. The statement was so sudden that Miles stopped walking and Nic, predictably, collided with him. 

After they managed to get themselves straightened out the two of them looked at their young lover and Nic knew he was staring at Wash in puzzlement under his helmet. 

“Well, that sorta is the point,” Miles observed as he put his fists on his hips. 

“No. I mean... I think that's why Epsilon,” David trailed off for a moment, shook his head, clearly hesitated over what he was trying to say. “Why the bits of Epsilon in my head are restless again. They were like that before the Director and Florida showed up. When they did, when they threatened you... I stopped running from them, stopped trying to hide from the memories. I was so focused on your safety, on being careful around Florida, on needing to understand what was going on, that I think it made it easier for me to handle.”

“And now?” Nic asked, slowly moving toward David, and finding himself thankful that David didn't wave him away. 

“There's less stress,” David repeated, his voice verging on a panic. “And it's not any better. He keeps tearing my mind apart at night, reordering it. And I think I lose a bit of myself every time he does.”

_I can help,_ Theta whispered in the back of Nic's mind. _Not much, but... At night at least, I can help._

_You sure?_

_No,_ Theta admitted and it was the first time he'd ever suggested that he might not be able to do something. _But I have to try._

Theta uploaded into David's armor easily enough when they sat around the fire that night.

For the first time since the nightmares had started, David slept the whole night through. 

Nic's head felt like there was a gaping wound in it. 

He suddenly started to understand a little bit of what was wrong with his lover. 

* * * * * *

They traded off nights. When the time had come for Theta to transfer into David's armor for the next night Nic had been surprised at how panicked he'd felt. 

He felt like he was cheating David when Theta just twined himself more tightly around his mind in an attempt to comfort him. When he'd awoken that morning he'd been disoriented and nervous, and when Theta had slipped back into his mind after David woke it had been in a wave of pleasure. Not that Theta had been willing to share much of what he'd touched in David's mind though the extremely limited connection their power armor inherently provided. 

And now here Nic was, clinging to Theta with an almost wordless terror in his throat. 

Theta must have said something to Delta, because Nic watched as Miles crossed to David and transferred Delta to his suit. The hardest part was knowing just how much David needed it. The whole day had been easier. David had been closer to the man they had fallen in love with again. Less slips into the Director's mannerisms over the course of the day. More smiles in his voice, the laughter was easier. 

Neither of them could bring themselves to deny David that relief. 

And yet he had panicked. Not Theta. Him. 

Nic hated himself for it. 

* * * * * *

Miles spent the morning strangely irritable, like he was butting heads with Delta like he used to when they'd first been partnered. By afternoon he was fine, and no one commented. 

David refused the AIs that night. Instead they held him through the worst of the nightmares. 

* * * * * *

When they hit the city, if you could call it that, they had money for a cheap apartment for two months, some real food, and a crappy king-sized bed set complete with blankets, pillows and a frame. 

David had looked at the thing when it was all set up, got that far away look in his eyes, and Miles had moved at the same moment Nic had. They had the thing dismantled in a few minutes and chucked the pieces of the frame into a corner, draping them with an extra sheet. David slept fitfully that night without the AIs; he'd made them promise to only transfer them if he asked, and while Nic held his lovers that night, their bare flesh pressed together under the thin sheet, he found himself smiling. 

_He's still broken,_ Theta observed, clearly confused. 

_Maybe,_ Nic thought back, unable to keep the smile on his face from growing as he looked from Miles to David in the dim light of the room. _But for the first time since we found him... I'm beginning to think he won't always be._

His fingers brushed gently down David's wounded shoulder, and the little squirm and garbled sound of annoyance he got for the action were one hundred percent David. 

And maybe that was the first step toward what they all needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s not consider this an ending. Let’s consider it a beginning. There is already plotting happening for the bonafide sequel [entitled A Reaction] which will explore how the fuck these guys deal with Meta, because MAN that is clearly something that needs to happen. There are also still lots of side stories to write, and at least one three-part bridge piece between here and A Reaction.
> 
> That being said, this is where the story was always headed. The original ending. So hats off once again to synnesai who is the origin of the idea, the motivation behind it, and probably the chief cheerleader. This one, Synne, is for you. 
> 
> And if anyone ever has side story requests for this AU, throw them at me because I’ll eat them up.


End file.
